


Courtship

by YamBits



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, Anal Sex, Bad Poetry, Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Complete, Cozy hobbits, Erotic Poetry, Eventual Smut, Family Feels, Festivals, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hobbit Courting, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hobbits, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Pre-Quest, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Slow Romance, True Love, supportive Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 130,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamBits/pseuds/YamBits
Summary: “Lad, nothing he said would make me think less of you,” Bilbo told him. Frodo looked up then, his eyes wide and afraid. “My dear boy,” Bilbo rose and went to Frodo’s side, laying a hand on his shoulder. Frodo was back to staring at the floor.“I’m sorry Bilbo,” Frodo said in a tight voice, “I know you said no secrets between us…"“Oh, don’t be silly,” Bilbo said gruffly, “I never gave you a detailed list of every dalliance I took. You mustn’t listen to the likes of Seredic Brandybuck.”“He probably advised you to disown me,” Frodo said smiling faintly. Bilbo frowned and rubbed the boy’s shoulder.“I could never do that, Frodo,” he said gravely.When one of Frodo's older cousins comes for a visit, he lets slip that Frodo had a tryst with a lad back at Brandy Hall. Bilbo decides to do what he can to help Frodo feel free to court who he pleases, and tries to go about setting him up with someone. Turns out he may not have to look very far.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a bit of hobbit art on tumblr [](https://embed.tumblr.com/embed/post/6woKwvZKNY6_1tr6eAG5Jg/174036227155)[here](https://yambits.tumblr.com/post/174036227155) . Some generic Frodo/Sam stuff. Some of it from this story.

When Bilbo Baggins received a letter from Seredic Brandybuck, saying that he would be passing through and wondered if he might stop in for tea, the old master didn’t think much of it. Serving tea, even to a stuffy Brandybuck wouldn’t be very much trouble and besides Bilbo thought he probably owed some civility to Seredic; since he was very closely related to Frodo, was in fact a first cousin, being Primula’s sister’s boy. But when he told Frodo later in the afternoon, the younger Baggins’ face drained of color.  
  
“Don’t you like him?” Bilbo asked, teasingly. Frodo didn’t smile or even look up. He had been reading in the April sunshine under the wisteria bower. He paused and looked out past the vegetable patch and out to the hills on the horizon.  
  
“Er, no actually. We don’t get along at all. I wonder what he could be doing, paying us a call,” Frodo said, his voice troubled.  
  
“I can write him back and say we’ve all caught the croup or better yet tell him to stuff it down his shirt,” Bilbo said and drew a laugh from his heir.  
  
“It would be rude,” Frodo said thoughtfully.  
  
“I’ve been called worse,” Bilbo chuckled and sat down, pulling out his pipe. “So what is so terrible about this cousin of yours? If he's an ass I really shall tell him to take himself off.” Frodo shook his head and he began idly pulling at the petals of wisteria that snaked over the bower. Bilbo noted that Frodo had not once during this exchange met his eyes.  
  
“I suppose he had my best interests at heart. No, I know he did. But I can’t enjoy being around him and I don’t want to talk about it, if it’s alright.”  
  
“Oh, of course. No, that’s quite alright,” Bilbo said, surprised. Frodo usually confided in him with complete confidence and Bilbo felt a little spark of hurt, though he told himself he was being ridiculous. “Tell me what you want me to do, my lad.” Frodo stood up and brushed his breeks off.  
  
“There’s no need to send him packing, especially since it's only tea he’s after, and he is family. Invite him if you like, but I’m afraid I’m going to be a complete coward about it and go off somewhere while he’s here.” Frodo turned back and looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, uncle.”  
  
“Don’t apologize,” Bilbo said, sticking his pipe in his mouth, “Really, I’m a complete coward about relations I don’t like so I can hardly complain when you want to hide from them.” He grinned at his nephew, “I’ll just make sure there’s a terribly urgent errand to one of the farthest farms in our holdings and that it must be seen to at once.” Frodo gave him a smile.  
  
“Thank you Bilbo. Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite relative?” he asked.  
  
“Probably because I spoil you so badly, but never mind,” Bilbo said, feeling a touch of embarrassment in his delight.

♦

The day before Seredic arrived Bilbo was eating second breakfast in his warm sunlit kitchen, sorting through his post while carrying on a chat with his gardener’s boy who was, at the moment, learning to make scones.  
  
“Don’t open the oven,” Bilbo scolded, looking up from his letter and peering over his reading glasses at the startled boy, “it shifts the temperature and they won’t bake evenly.” Sam shut the door and cast a guilty look at his master. Bilbo tried not to chuckle at the look. “They won’t burn. Not yet anyway, give them a few more minutes and then we’ll test them.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam said.  
  
“Oh, that reminds me,” Bilbo put his letter from cousin Merlo down and focused his attention on Sam, “I’m having a relation to tea tomorrow. Do you think you can do some baking for us?” he asked. Sam nodded, looking eager.  
  
“Is it a Took?” he asked. Sam had always liked Tooks. They were wild and knew long impossible stories and sometimes had news of the Outside.  
  
“No, a Brandybuck.”  
  
“Oh, like Mr. Frodo,” Sam said absently, looking back at the oven. Bilbo frowned.  
  
“Frodo is a Baggins,” he said and Sam whirled around his eyes wide.  
  
“Of course he is, I’m sorry, only…” Sam trailed off, his mouth still open and Bilbo sighed.  
  
“Only your father still calls him ‘the Brandybuck lad’, doesn’t he?” Bilbo chuckled and Sam looked relieved, “we will bring your father round one of these days, won’t we Samwise?” and Sam nodded, biting his lip.  
  
“We will, sir. Things just take time with the Gaffer,” he said. “So, this Brandybuck relation, does he live at Brandy Hall?”  
  
“No,” Bilbo said, resuming his perusal of the post, “He’s been in the North Farthing for a decade or more, managing the family lands up there, but he knew Frodo when he lived at the Hall. They’re first cousins you know.”  
  
“Fancy that,” Sam said and Bilbo could almost see the lines of relation that Sam had memorized flashing before the boy’s eyes. “Mr. Frodo must be looking forward to seeing him after all this time.”  
  
“Er, well not really,” Bilbo said and reached for a teacup, “I don’t think they got on well.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said and Bilbo could hear the boy’s tone chill considerably. He looked up and frowned.  
  
“Just because Frodo didn’t like someone ten years ago does not mean you should dislike them instantly.” Sam didn’t say anything but Bilbo could tell his statement was being met with skepticism. “And if he turns up and is a complete ass that does not give you leave to slip him root of ipecac or any of your powdered rhizomes and make him ill. I don’t care what he says about Frodo.”  
  
“Sir!” Sam protested, but seemed reluctant to offer any more protest than that. Instead, he squirmed uncomfortably under Bilbo’s gaze and the old master sighed.  
  
“I am only glad you’re on our side, Master Gamgee,” he said and Sam blushed deeper.

♦

The next day, Seredic arrived on time riding a fine pony of North Farthing stock and greeted Bilbo warmly. He looked older than his age, with graying frayed sideburns, but Bilbo attributed that to the harsh climate of the North Farthing and the stress of managing so much land by himself. Though he looked old Seredic had a kind face and spoke politely in his East Farthing accent.  
  
“I am pleased to meet you at last cousin Bilbo,” Seredic said, “I’ve heard so much about you and your adventures, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to have tea with you.” Bilbo smiled a little unsure. Frodo’s dislike of the hobbit had put him in mind of someone like the Sackville-Bagginses, but this hobbit was clearly nothing so nasty.  
  
“Well, what you’ve heard is probably bad enough to curl your foot hair, but you’ve decided to be brave and come and meet Mad Baggins after all. I think tea is a small reward for such courage,” Bilbo said, guiding him in through the gate. He glanced back and saw Sam taking the pony off to the stable, casting dower looks at the oblivious gentlehobbit. Bilbo didn’t think Sam would poison a gentlehobbit, but he was very suspicious about the incident in which Lotho Sackville-Baggins had come to tea, got into an argument with Frodo and then suddenly come down with the trots.  
  
“I’m afraid Frodo can’t join us,” Bilbo said as they walked up the path to the green door, “There was an emergency with one of the farming families. I sent him to check on them this afternoon and I’m afraid it is quite a ways.”  
  
“Oh dear, nothing too serious I hope?” Seredic inquired politely.  
  
“Er, no. Hunting dispute. Frodo’s quite good at settling that sort of thing,” he said.  
  
“Is he indeed?” Seredic said and Bilbo couldn’t detect any stiffness in his tone, but he knew better than to try and guess tone from a Brandybuck.  
  
They had a pleasant tea and Bilbo began to find that if he didn’t exactly enjoy talking to Seredic that he didn’t find it unpleasant, and that was a considerable accomplishment for a gentlehobbit in Bilbo’s opinion. They retreated to the drawing room and Bilbo poured them each a small glass of brandy.  
  
“This is very nice. A touch of civilization for a change,” Seredic said as he took his glass and got a sharp look from Bilbo.  
  
“Oh ho, I hope you’re not going to disparage the West Farthing?” Bilbo said and Seredic laughed.  
  
“I was referring to the North Farthing actually. No, this is all quite charming. I’m ever so pleased my cousin has come to such a place. You were very kind to take him in,” he said. Bilbo felt a slight tug of anxiety and sipped his brandy.  
  
“Nonsense. Frodo is a wonderful lad. I’m lucky to have him.”  
  
“I’ve heard you dote on him,” Seredic said slowly, “You must love him dearly if you are able to overlook his unusual proclivities.” Bilbo frowned on principal, though he didn’t know exactly what Seredic meant.  
  
“I know the Brandybucks think the boy odd, but then they think I’m mad,” Bilbo laughed, “So in a way we are a good team, Frodo and I.” Seredic was frowning so Bilbo snorted at him, “I may offend you cousin, but the Brandybucks consider anyone born outside the Hall odd and the rest of the Shire considers them odd, so there is quite enough oddness going around beyond the Bagginses!”  
  
“I’m not talking about the boy learning his Elvish,” Seredic said. “Oh dear, I thought Saradoc would have told you.” Bilbo stifled the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“Don’t be coy with me, I’ll not have this ominous gossip mongering about my lad,” Bilbo said stiffly, but to Seredic’s credit, he seemed not at all delighted by the turn in the conversation.  
  
“No, I don’t mean to gossip. This is quite beyond… I mean, you’re his guardian…”  
  
“Seredic, if you are going to tell me something then do it. Otherwise, close your mouth and let’s talk about something else.” Seredic shook his head.  
  
“No, you ought to know,” he said, “… Years ago in the Buckland wood shop, I caught Frodo in a compromising situation with… well, with a carpenter boy,” Seredic said unsteadily and took a swig of Brandy, “Forgive me. That should have come from Saradoc…”  
  
“How’s that?” Bilbo said, confused, “what were they doing? Frodo knows better than to mess about in a wood shop. Hot, sharp, spinning things…”  
  
“No sir,” Seredic looked positively strained, “they were… locked in a passionate embrace.” Bilbo coughed and tried not to snort brandy out his nose.  
  
“Oh I see,” he said, pleased that he kept his voice even.  
  
“I am sorry to have to burden you with this, but since Saradoc didn’t tell you, I feel it is my duty.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Bilbo chuckled, unable to help himself, “I don’t think it was any of Saradoc’s business and he knew that.” But Seredic wasn’t listening.  
  
“I know it puts cousin Frodo in a bad place, but I’m sure you agree you should have been made privy before taking the boy as your heir.”  
  
“Er, well,” Bilbo frowned, a little unnerved by the shade of red that Seredic was turning.  
  
“We were discrete in handling the matter. I would not call scandal down on the Brandybucks, so you needn’t fear gossip.”  
  
“You’ll find that I never fear gossip,” Bilbo said dryly. “Get a hold of yourself Seredic-lad for heaven sakes!” Seredic finally looked up at Bilbo warily.  
  
“I thought you forgave him for youthful indiscretion, or whatever flimflam Sara called it. But they boy hasn’t courted a lass has he? You may find yourself in want of a proper heir.” Bilbo’s eyes bulged.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” he said and put his brandy glass down.  
  
“Well, you took the boy on to solve the problem of no little Baggins children in the hill didn’t you? I’m only saying that as good a lad as Frodo is, he may not solve that problem. And worse, he might put a stain on the Baggins name for generations if he goes on with his…”  
  
“Oh great heavens above!” Bilbo shouted and stood. “Seredic, come along. This conversation is over and you ought to be on your way if you want to reach Waymeet by sunset.” Seredic stood.  
  
“I’m so sorry to have upset you cousin. I am dreadfully sorry about the whole thing,” he said and Bilbo nodded, taking him by the arm.  
  
“I’m certain you are lad, but not for the right reasons. Here we are,” he wrenched the door open and walked Seredic down to the pony shed.  
  
“Terribly sorry old chap, you know I don’t mean…”  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo said irritably, “Sam! Sam-lad!” he shouted and was gratified to find Sam in the stable, feeding apples to the pony. “Cousin Seredic wants to be on his way at once.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam chirped and went about fitting the pony with saddle and reins.  
  
“Oh, cousin Bilbo, I so very much enjoyed visiting you and I hope I can write to you about my wheat yields. You seem so well informed about all the lands you manage and I want to do a better job with mine. I hope you can advise me.”  
  
“Of course, lad,” Bilbo said, sighing, “I know you want to do right by your tenants.” Seredic brightened.  
  
“I do,” he said. Sam tacked the pony quickly and within minutes Seredic was disappearing down the row road with Bilbo watching him leave while Sam tidied up the stable.

♦

Frodo slunk into Bag End by way of the back mudroom door towards sunset and padded quietly into the kitchen. He greeted Bilbo cheerfully, but Bilbo noted the boy wouldn’t meet his eyes and set about making tea, keeping his back turned. Bilbo put aside his copy of the _Hobbiton and Bywater Weekly Leader_ and fixed his gaze on the back of Frodo’s head.  
  
_Poor boy,_ Bilbo thought.  
  
“How was cousin Seredic?” Frodo asked.  
  
“A bore,” Bilbo said, “though pleasant enough I suppose. He wants advice on managing his land holdings.”

“Ah,” Frodo said and went to the tea cabinet, his attention focused on the little labels that Samwise had painstakingly written out to mark which leaves were in which drawers. “Chamomile alright with you?”  
  
“Fine,” Bilbo agreed readily.  
  
_Oh dear,_ he thought, _Frodo really is in a state. The chamomile only comes out when he’s completely flustered._ Frodo let out a sigh and sank into a chair.  
  
“And he talked on me?” he asked and there was a stiff resignation in his voice. Bilbo frowned, feeling terribly uncomfortable. He didn’t have experience talking about these things and he was afraid he would hurt or embarrass his nephew.  
  
“He did,” Bilbo said slowly. There was a silence in the kitchen that stretched uncomfortably until Bilbo forced himself to speak. “Lad, nothing he said would make me think less of you.” Frodo looked up then, his eyes wide and afraid. “My dear boy,” Bilbo rose and went to Frodo’s side, laying a hand on his shoulder. Frodo was back to staring at the floor.  
  
“I’m sorry Bilbo,” Frodo said in a tight voice, “I know you said no secrets between us…”  
  
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Bilbo said gruffly, “I never gave you a detailed list of every dalliance I took. You mustn’t listen to the likes of Seredic Brandybuck.”  
  
“He probably advised you to disown me,” Frodo said smiling faintly. Bilbo frowned and rubbed the boy’s shoulder.  
  
“I could never do that, Frodo,” he said gravely. Frodo took a deep breath and Bilbo realized he was crying. Frodo never cried. “Oh lad,” he breathed and put his arms around the boy, who leaned into his side. “You can’t believe that I would take the same opinions as those overstuffed Brandybuck windbags. I suppose they filled your head with nonsense?”  
  
“Seredic and Uncle Gorbulas had a very long talk with me,” Frodo mumbled into Bilbo’s weskit.  
  
“Oh, did they indeed?” Bilbo sighed. “Well, let’s have it then, what did they say?”  
  
“… That I was wicked and foul and no one would ever have me.”  
  
“And clearly they’re the experts,” Bilbo scoffed, “I thought we were past believing any such drivel from the family?”  
  
“I was much younger then,” Frodo said quietly. “It made a bit of an impression.” Bilbo scowled angrily and began reconsidering his prohibition of Sam poisoning gentlehobbits.  
  
“Those hobbits have never seen real wickedness,” Bilbo said slowly as he rubbed Frodo’s back, “and no one who knows you could say you’re wicked, my dear boy.”  
  
“Thank you Bilbo,” Frodo said and reached up to clasp his hand. “I’m terribly embarrassed about the whole thing.” And he drew back, folding his arms and looking down.  
  
“Well, I don’t see why you should be,” Bilbo said carefully. “But if you like, we’ll leave it alone for now. How about some supper, then? And maybe a nice strong drink too; I think you’ve earned it,” he said. Frodo looked up at him and smiled with adoration in his eyes. Bilbo paused and watched his nephew wipe his cheeks, then went off into the cold cellar. At least it was possible he had said some of the right things.

♦

Bilbo was brooding. He was very annoyed with the Brandybucks first off and pointedly ignored their letters for weeks before he felt he could be civil enough to write back. Second, he was annoyed with himself, for he felt it was probably his duty as Frodo’s guardian to refute what the Brandybucks had said once and for all and if Frodo really did prefer lads, then make him feel as if he could find a lad to pair with, if he wanted. Bilbo was fairly confident that Frodo had done no such thing since coming to Hobbiton. There had been some girls he trifled with but each affair had been short lived and there hadn’t been any lately, as far as Bilbo knew. And he knew quite a bit about the happenings in Hobbiton. The gammers joked about Bilbo being omniscient, but little did they know how close to truth their claims were. He couldn’t help it really, not when every hobbit within a twenty mile radius came to him about every little problem or piece of gossip.  
  
“Maybe I should try and match him with someone,” Bilbo pondered and chuckled. Frodo would accuse him of behaving like the maiden aunts at Brandy Hall. Well, it was a thought, Bilbo mused. He supposed it might be best if it was someone Frodo was already close to. There were some friends, maybe some of the Brandybuck cousins he had been close with. But that was only if Saradoc allowed it and Bilbo could see other complications. The distance, the gossip, Brandybuck pigheadedness… There was a knock on his study door and Bilbo jumped, turning to the doorway and saw Samwise peering in at him, smiling cheerfully.  
  
“Begging your pardon, sir, I’m just off home,” he said.  
  
“Oh yes of course. Good night, lad,” he said. “Remember tomorrow is your lesson so bring your parchment and pen.” Sam nodded.  
  
“Yes, sir. Good night, sir,” he said and disappeared. Bilbo stared after him, struck by a sudden thought.  
  
“Samwise?” he called and rose. He heard Sam’s steps halt in the hallway.  
  
“Yes, sir?” he said and turned as Bilbo reached the hall.  
  
“Er- tell your father, I’m making up a batch of that arthritis liniment. I’ll have some for him set aside,” Bilbo said and Sam’s face lit up.  
  
“Oh, that’s kind of you sir. Da feels so much better since you started him on that liniment.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear that. Well, don’t let me keep you,” Bilbo said and smiled, “I’ll bet you’re off to see your sweetheart aren’t you?” he teased. Sam’s face flushed red.  
  
“If that’s what you heard, then someone’s been telling a tale on me, sir,” he said, clasping his hands, “I’m just off home.” Bilbo crossed his arms schooling his face to look sympathetic.  
  
“No sweetheart? That’s too bad my lad, but no matter. You run along now,” he said. Sam flashed him another grin and set off down the hall calling as he reached the door,  
  
“Good night Mr. Bilbo. Sleep well, and tell Mr. Frodo, I said good night too.” Bilbo chuckled.  
  
“I certainly will.”

♦

The next morning Bilbo stood in the kitchen watching as Sam measured ingredients and tended the stove. They were making pie and Sam was stirring the pot of blackberries on the stove, breathing the sweet fumes with a dreamy look on his face.  
  
“More sugar I think,” Bilbo said, leaning over to take a whiff himself, “Yes, half a cup if you would, lad.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam said and went for the sugar bowl. Bilbo watched him speculatively and reflected that he had better enjoy these moments. The Gaffer had positively threatened to make Sam full time gardener next year and there would be no more time for cooking and reading lessons. Still, that was probably years off; as much as Hamfast Gamgee complained about his arthritis he would not give up tending Bag End’s gardens until he truly was no longer up to the task.  
  
“Sam, I wonder if I might talk to you about something, but you would have to keep it secret, understand?” he said. Sam turned to him, eyes wide and face solemn.  
  
“Yes Mr. Bilbo?” he said.  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t bring this up, but I need help with Frodo, you see, and you’re young, you might know about these things…” Bilbo said and Sam sat on a kitchen chair, peering at him across the table, open faced with his head cocked to one side. “It’s about lads courting other lads,” Bilbo said and watched as Sam’s eyes widened and he sat back. Whatever he had expected Bilbo to ask, this had not been it. “Have you ever heard of it happening? Around here?” Bilbo asked. Sam smiled and looked down, chuckling.  
  
“S’not talked on much, but aye, I’ve heard tell of it,” he squinted at his master, “and I suspect you’ve heard tell about it too, sir,” he said. Bilbo snorted. The boy knew him all too well. “What does this have to do with Mr. Frodo? If I can ask,” Sam said and sat forward again, “… Is he courting someone?”  
  
“No,” Bilbo said slowly, “I’m wondering if he could court a lad around here, if he wanted. I’d like to help him get set up with someone.” Sam smiled.  
  
“Most folks don’t want their lads courting other lads, but you’re trying to match-make Mr. Frodo with a lad?” he asked.  
  
“I’m not called Mad Baggins for nothing, you understand,” Bilbo said.  
  
“Well, there’s plenty of lads about sir,” Sam said slowly, “Though I don’t know much about the gentlehobbits you understand. You might need to talk to some of them to see who might be interested.”  
  
“I’m not sure that would go down well. Imagine me interviewing prospective young bucks, or rather their parents,” Bilbo chuckled and Sam made an agreeable noise as he sipped more tea. Bilbo snorted and added, “Can you imagine me going into one of the fancy county estates, ‘Good morning Mrs. Brumbyfoot, I wonder if I might inquire to the eligibility of your boy. I wish to introduce him to my nephew and wondered if he would be so inclined to a nice walking out occasion… Yes, I did say nephew.” Bilbo watched in delight as Sam snorted into his hand, laughing helplessly.  
  
“Lor’ Mr. Bilbo,” he cried. Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“As much fun as that might be, I don’t think it would get us very far. No, and I don’t think that’s really the problem, anyway.”  
  
“What is then, sir?” Sam asked. Bilbo frowned and toyed with the flour still on the counter from when they had rolled out the dough. He hadn’t really intended to tell Sam everything but he trusted the boy implicitly and he truly didn’t know what to say to Frodo in any case.  
  
“The problem is, Samwise… that Frodo was told some rather untrue things about it, back at the Hall and it seems he’s held on to these notions,” Bilbo said slowly, “And I’ve told him that I don’t think badly of him for liking lads… I'm hardly one to call him out for being a bit queer... but he’s terribly embarrassed and it upset him to talk about what happened in Buckland.” Sam went still and stared, frowning.  
  
“What was that, sir?” he asked quietly, then shook his head, “No, it don’t matter. I’m guessing he courted a lad and those Brandybucks didn’t like it much.” Sam’s frown deepened. “Were they very unkind to Mr. Frodo?”  
  
“Yes, I’m afraid they were,” Bilbo said and decided quickly to distract Sam, “Maybe you could talk to him about it?” Sam looked up in surprise, his mouth hanging open.  
  
“Me?” he cried, “I can’t talk to Mr. Frodo about that!”  
  
“Why not?” Bilbo asked, pouring himself a cup of tea, “You’re talking to me about it.” Sam glanced away and looked pensive.  
  
“It… Mr. Frodo’s different,” he mumbled uncomfortably. Bilbo smiled and tried not to look pleased.  
  
“I wonder if you’ve ever thought of courting him?” he said quietly. Sam froze and stared.  
  
“Eh?” the boy said, thrown so far off he forgot to be polite. Bilbo smiled only a little.  
  
“Yes, you. Have you ever thought of courting Frodo?” he repeated and took Sam’s cup, refilling it. Sam didn’t move, only continued to stare, but Bilbo refused to be defeated. Finally, he stood and went to the stove. “The blackberries have thickened enough, I think,” he said and took them from the burner. “Well?” he prompted.  
  
“I… can’t say I have thought of it,” Sam said thickly.  
  
“Well, what do you think of the idea?” Bilbo asked gently.  
  
“I couldn’t, sir,” Sam said earnestly.  
  
“Oh, why not?” Bilbo said, turning to look at the still gaping Sam. Sam cast a defensive look at Bilbo, as if he were afraid he were being made fun of.  
  
“He’s a gentlehobbit,” he said frowning.  
  
“You’ve got something against gentlehobbits?” Bilbo asked. Sam crossed his arms.  
  
“Of course I haven’t,” he grumbled.  
  
“Oh, maybe you don’t find him attractive then?” Bilbo asked and watched Sam blush spectacularly and hide his face.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo!”  
  
“I’m sorry Sam, I shouldn’t tease,” Bilbo said, returning to the table. “I know you care very deeply for Frodo.” Sam’s hands came down and he peered speculatively at Bilbo.  
  
“That I do,” Sam mumbled.  
  
“And you’ve… some liking for the lads, unless I’ve heard wrong,” he added. Sam’s eyes rounded and his face went a deep shade of red.  
  
“Sir?” he squeaked. Bilbo shrugged, making light of it.  
  
“I suppose your Gaffer didn’t care for you taking up with that Tunnelly boy a few seasons ago?” Sam choked, gripping the table unsteadily.  
  
“Oh come along, then,” Bilbo said. Sam took up his teacup and sipped gingerly before raising his eyes to Bilbo again.  
  
“Lor sir, but you do know everything that happens in Hobbiton, don’t you?”  
  
“Nearly,” Bilbo said, feeling pleased. He hadn’t been sure that Sam had really been involved with the Tunnelly boy in that fashion, but hints and gossip from the old Tunnelly matriarch had made it a likely guess.  
  
“Well, you have my full approval to court Frodo, if that helps,” Bilbo said. Sam stopped and looked up helplessly.  
  
“You’d let me court him?” he asked.  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo said stubbornly, “Of course I would. You’re a good lad and you already told me you care for him.” Sam sighed and didn’t answer. “If it’s only a class divide I can’t see that as an insurmountable barrier. I mean, you’ve learned to read, and that’s not exactly looked on as proper is it?” Sam looked down frowning. “I suppose what I’m asking, Sam,” Bilbo said, dropping his light tone, “is if you find the idea at all appealing. Set aside the class divide and any of the other nonsense and think if you could love him.” Sam stared at him wide-eyed and stricken. He swallowed and looked down at the floor, his face pained.  
  
“I don’t know,” he said softly, “I like lads fine, but I don’t know if I could feel right courting him. Maybe I could. He’s dearer to me than any other, but even if you say put aside my place, I can’t really do that. And folks already say I’m reaching higher than is my place,” he said quietly, “and that’s just from learning to read.”  
  
“Ah, but you told me you didn’t give a curse. That reading is too dear to you,” Bilbo said proudly. Sam winced.  
  
“Aye, but even if I don’t care, it does cause problems; and the problems from learning to read ain’t nothing compared to the problems that would come of courting Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“That is true,” Bilbo admitted and turned back to the pie filling. “Help me fill the dough?” Sam stood and went to the counter, and taking a spoon helped lay down the pie filling. “Still,” Bilbo mused, “I can’t help but think those problems could be worked out and borne by a lad like you. If you don’t mind me saying, you can be a bit stubborn once you set your heart on something.” Sam sighed and didn’t answer. Bilbo cocked his head and watched the boy working through the problem in his head.  
  
“He don’t think on me any such way,” Sam said finally, “So as nice as that is of you to say, it don’t make it so. And I’d-” he broke off and stared at the floor going on in a quiet voice, “I’d shame him, sir.”  
  
“Shame him, Sam?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“Yes sir. He’d not have me,” Sam sighed.  
  
“You’re so sure of that?” Bilbo asked and Sam nodded, looking crestfallen.  
  
“I’m little-Samwise-the-tag-along to him,” he said quietly. “He couldn’t think of me any other way.”  
  
“That is what courting is for, isn’t it?” Bilbo asked and Sam looked up, bewildered. “It’s for convincing your one-to-be that the two of you would work as a pair; Though I’m not an expert on the matter, granted.” Sam pondered that, looking overwhelmed.  
  
“You said it embarrasses him,” Sam mumbled.  
  
“It embarrasses him to talk about it with me,” Bilbo said.  
  
“Maybe he don’t even like lads anymore,” Sam said and Bilbo scowled.  
  
“You’re looking for excuses, Samwise!” he said and then changed his mind, “We need whiskey.”  
  
“I beg your pardon sir?” Sam said, but Bilbo had already moved out of the room to the cold cellar.  
  
“Be back in a moment,” he called and retrieved his whiskey bottle. “This is fine grain whiskey,” Bilbo said proudly as he returned to the kitchen, “the Tooks send me a bottle from time to time and it is good stuff. We’ll just mix it with a little soda water, shall we?” Sam watched the proceedings with amused bewilderment. Bilbo chuckled at his expression. “Let’s see, drinking spirits before noon, encouraging you to court a lad, and a gentlehobbit lad at that, and worst of all, in a few minutes we’ll have a reading lesson. I think that’s just about everything I can do to scandalize your father.”  
  
“Just about sir,” Sam agreed, chuckling.

♦

Bilbo sent Sam home after a long day of cooking and reading and gardening in the afternoon. The old master had said little more on the matter of courting Frodo except for Sam to think the matter over before making a decision.  
  
“After all, this would be your affair lad,” Bilbo had said, “You’ll be the one to reap the rewards or suffer the consequences no matter what I say. I will try and help you of course, but it must be your decision. Give it some time and let me know what you decide.” Sam had agreed quietly, still feeling light headed that he was openly discussing the matter, with the master no less.  
  
Late that afternoon he had come to bid Bilbo goodnight and found his master pouring over Burfoot’s Landed Gentry. He had winked at Sam.  
  
“Just pursuing the old stud book, should you decide against pursing the courtship. But really Sam, you’re quite preferable to,” he paused and glanced down, “Rudoby Burrowbound of Crilly Hall; born 1372, eldest son of Bonbus Burrowbound Esquire of Deephallow, now of Willowbottom.” Sam had blushed and hadn’t known what to say to that. Mr. Bilbo was a caution and no mistake, Sam reminded himself.  
  
It was a ridiculous notion really, Sam’s hobbit sense told him. He had admired Frodo, the same as many others had, but it was like admiring the prize wedding cake in the West Farthing Fall Fair; it was beautiful and fine piece of work that might make your mouth water but it was strictly off limits, and knowing you’d never have such a thing dampened any wanting. It was much more satisfying to find a candy apple that you could have. Sam paused and examined his metaphor for a moment before deciding that it was vaguely insulting; though he couldn’t decide if it was more insulting to the gentlehobbit or the baked goods.  
  
Despite that, the matter was still very interesting, Sam thought. To know that Frodo liked lads was a revelation in and of itself. Sam had assumed the heir to the Hill liked lasses; he certainly was popular with them and he was kept busy at the dances with wave after wave of partners. He and Frodo had even talked of lasses, comparing the beauties of the village and once last fall when they had fallen into their cups in the back garden, Frodo had told him which ones he had kissed.  
  
Sam himself liked lasses, two or three in particular, though he had not got much farther than kisses, as tween lasses were carefully watched by their parents. Lads had been the natural alternative and Sam had relieved quite a lot of tension with Fin Tunnelly. That had not been courtship though. Rubbing each other in the woods had been the extent of that relationship and when Fin wanted to make it more Sam had decided there were easier ways to relieve tension that didn’t set the Gaffer’s back up so badly. Fin wasn’t worth that, and as much as Sam missed the friendly palm, he had broken it off. He then half-heartedly courted Dandy Brokenboring but she was, even by Sam’s standards, hopelessly dimwitted. The only reason he had tried was that she had been free enough to sit in his lap once when they went walking out and let him rub against her. That relationship had come abruptly to an end when Dandy suggested he plant tomatoes under Number Three’s maple tree on the north facing side of the smial.  
  
He had been willing to let her down easy, but she had been so insistent about where to plant the tomatoes that Sam had been rather more blunt than he was usually known to be. What resulted led to a shouting match in the middle of Bagshot Row. Sam was still hearing about that from the widow, though the Gaffer had approved. Sam had since sworn off courting, at least for the time being, and tried to focus on his work. There was, he told himself, plenty of time.  
  
And now Mr. Bilbo had given him permission to court the future Master of Bag End, future richest hobbit in the farthing, discounting the Tooks of course, and heir to most of the lands Sam had ever known. He was being encouraged to court the gentle fair and kind young master that he had looked up to most of his life, and Sam found with some alarm, that he was considering the proposal seriously.  
  
“Heaven help me,” Sam murmured to himself as he sat outside that evening, smoking to calm his nerves. He gazed at the stars and found himself shivering, though it was far from cold on this May night. If Bilbo’s idea was pure foolishness it would not be affecting him so; it was that grain of possibility that made his heart pound and his senses go numb with terror.  
  
He had caught Frodo looking at him in the year past with an expression that Sam would have called interest if it had been on any other lad’s face, but because it was Frodo he had immediately dismissed the notion. Anything Frodo felt for him had to be innocent interest, as if Sam had surprised him by being clever, or funny perhaps. It wasn’t desire, it wasn’t interest of that sort, he had always felt. The problem was that Bilbo’s words were turning all those assumption on their heads and now Sam didn’t feel so sure of how Frodo might regard him.  
  
“Nay, if there is anything then it’s like how I feel for him,” Sam told himself quietly. Frodo might admire him, but it was admiration from a distance, knowing you could never have the one you admired so it was harmless, really. “Aye, he probably hasn’t thought much more on it than that,” Sam assured himself. “He hasn’t had Mr. Bilbo telling him things… Making him think…” Sam pulled his pipe from his teeth and blew out a puff of smoke. “Save me but now I’m thinking things I have no business thinking.”  
  
Like how it would be to kiss Frodo. He had never kissed a lad; kissing had not been a priority in his exchanges with Fin. Sam liked kissing the lasses but he felt himself go hot at the thought of kissing a lad and couldn’t imagine why he had never tried it with Fin. It wouldn’t be as soft as a lass, he supposed, and another lad mightn’t be as shy, might even make the first move and catch Sam in his grip.  
  
“Oh mercy,” Sam sighed and thought about the times Fin had pinned him against a tree and held him there, rubbing him. For all that Sam had been strong enough to break Fin’s grip he had found himself helpless and shivering for that touch. What would it be like to be held helpless in Frodo’s thrall?  
  
And what would Mr. Bilbo think of Sam having such thoughts on his heir? Sam chided himself, and then remembered that it had been Bilbo that suggested Sam regard Frodo with an eye toward matters more carnal.  
  
“No he didn’t,” Sam muttered, “He said court. He wants me to court him.” Courting wasn’t something Sam associated with lads, though he supposed he ought to be ashamed at such thinking. One as special as Frodo ought to be afforded respect and care. And more than that, Sam supposed, he ought to be loved. That thought stopped Sam short and he put his pipe back in his mouth and sat for a long moment in silence.  
  
Of course, Mr. Bilbo wasn’t looking for Sam to take a tumble with his heir, nor even a convenient lad about who could relieve Frodo’s loneliness. No, he was looking for someone who would love Frodo, who could care for and be cared for by his heir. Apparently he saw that person in Sam, or at least in a future Sam.  
  
“What in the Shire-land are you doing out here, lad?” came the Gaffer’s voice. Sam jumped a little; he hadn’t heard the door he had been so deep in his thoughts.  
  
“Nought da,” he mumbled, “Having a pipe afore bed.”  
  
“That brings on the hag,” the Gaffer grumbled at him, “You know better.” Sam chuckled.  
  
“Mayhap I do,” he agreed, “the pipe’s only an excuse for a quiet spell to think and be out of the smial.” Sam sighed, knowing his dad wouldn’t like that and sure enough the Gaffer snorted.  
  
“You think too much Samwise,” he growled, “You don’t earn your keep for thinking, lad. It’s doing that is a Gamgee’s work. What were you thinking on?”  
  
“Courting,” Sam said, knowing better than to lie or try and evade his dad. The Gaffer made a far more agreeable noise.  
  
“Well, that’s all right then,” he said. “Who are you setting to court?”  
  
“Don’t know that I’m setting to,” Sam said slowly. “Just wondering on it… on who.” He didn’t want to get any closer to the truth than that.  
  
“Well there’s several lasses had their eyes on you. You’d best speak afore they get caught by some other lad, all but you’re not near come of age. These things get started in tweens and stay set you know,” the Gaffer advised.  
  
“Aye, but how do you court proper?” Sam asked suddenly and the Gaffer turned to stare at him. Sam frowned and looked away, “I know the asking to walk out and all, but I think I blunder the rest.”  
  
“You can start by not calling her daft-witted ninny when she don’t know aught about sun plants and shade plants. You jest leave that be. Not everyone is a gardener.” He huffed, “Even if that is just sense.”  
  
“How did you court mam?” Sam asked shyly. His dad didn’t talk much on Bell, not since she passed.  
  
“Nought special,” the Gaffer said gruffly. “Walked out with her, brought her flowers and trinkets I made for her. Found sommat we could talk on and gave her compliments… And I sang to her.” Sam cast a surprised look at his dad. He had never heard his dad sing anything that might be fit for a lass’s ear. The younger Gamgee snuffed his pipe and watched the smoke rise and drift away.  
  
“Does that help?” the Gaffer asked and Sam nodded slowly.  
  
“Aye… I think so,” he murmured. The sat in silence a moment until the Gaffer cleared his throat.  
  
“And don’t do all your thinking with your cock,” he said gruffly and Sam tried not to choke. “You haven’t many wits lad, but use what you have. Go for the one that will make you happy, not the one is most free.” Sam took a deep breath, flushed with shame as he realized that up until this point that was exactly what he had done.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said.  
  
“I’m off to bed and if you’ve sense you’ll do the same,” the Gaffer said and turned, pushing through the smial door.  
  
“Goodnight da. I’ll just be a moment,” Sam said trying to keep his voice steady. _The one to make you happy…_  
  
Sam sat quietly and stared into the night for a long time before rising and stretching against the cricks in his joints. He let out a long sigh and gazed up at the dark hill above him before turning to find his bed.

♦

Sam went about his duties in a bit of a fog for the next week until his father shouted at him for being more addle brained than usual and Sam made an effort to refocus his attentions. It was late in the week when Sam found himself trimming the hedges and whistling, breaking off every once in a while to gaze out over the countryside. Summer leaves were in full flourish and the lands around him were swathed in rich greens and yellows that made the young gardener’s head swim. Glory but its all fine to look at from up on the hill, he thought. There was a call from across the garden and Sam turned at the sound of his name. He saw Bilbo on the front path waving him over so Sam lowered his shears and tucked them into his tool box before going to see what the master wanted.  
  
“Sam-lad, I’m sending Frodo out to the eastern farms to collect rents and get some papers. The Browntrees invited him to pick strawberries from their fields and I want you to go and help him. We need enough for jam making.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said and noticed Frodo sitting on the bower bench. Frodo cast an apologetic look at him and Sam grinned in response. Bilbo pushed several large baskets nested within one another into Sam’s hands.  
  
“Bilbo! We’ll strip their fields if we fill those baskets,” Frodo cried springing up.  
  
“Nonsense,” Bilbo snorted, “There’s plenty in the fields and anyway its part of the agreement we have with the family. They’ll be insulted if you only take a basket or two.”  
  
“If you say so,” Frodo said ruefully. “Are you ready Sam?” Sam looked up and nodded.  
  
“Just let me put my tools away and I’ll be ready.”  
  
“Meet me down at the front gate then,” Frodo said and took the baskets from him. Sam turned about to rush off to the hedge when he caught Bilbo watching him. The old master winked at him and Sam turned away, afraid he would blush or laugh. The old master was a rascal, Sam thought cheekily, if this trip to the east farms had been contrived to set him and Frodo together. It was a long walk out there on mostly deserted roads, after all. Sam felt a blush creeping over his face.  
  
He had not given Bilbo an answer yet. It was pure madness to think he could court Frodo and more than once in the last week he had almost gone to Bilbo and told him so, but there was that niggling little doubt that crept over him and stopped him whenever he tried. The memories of close talks he and Frodo had shared, the peace he felt in the other lad’s presence spoke to the thought that Frodo might be the one to make him happy. The Gaffer would be horrified to think that Sam was interpreting his advice in such a way, but Sam couldn’t stop the thoughts now that he had started on them. Still, thoughts were one thing, actions another. He would sooner enter a boat race on the Brandywine in full flood than do anything to upset Frodo.  
  
“Sam-lad stop dithering!” Frodo called from the lane and Sam turned to see the young master watching him fiddle with his tools, “We do want to get back before sunset don’t we?” he teased.  
  
“Yes sir, sorry sir,” Sam said and snapped his tool box closed and took it off quickly to the shed. He raced back down the path and let himself out through the little gate and put himself at Frodo’s side, looking at him expectantly. Frodo gave him a brief smile and handed him two of the baskets to carry.  
  
“I’m sorry to trouble you with this. I know you have work to do. Bilbo gets greedy with strawberries and I think he wants you along to make sure I don’t shirk my duty.”  
  
“Tis no bother sir and I’m happy to help,” Sam said peaceably, “Anyway, that jam will go to half the families in the farthing.”  
  
“You always see the best in cousin Bilbo,” Frodo smiled as they turned off the lane and descended the hillside.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo says always try and see the best in people. I can’t always, but I try. I do try, sir,” Sam said, his thoughts straying guiltily to the miller’s son and the trouncing Sam had given him last month when Ted insulted the youngest Gamgee daughter’s honor.  
  
“Good for you,” Frodo said quietly. “And good old Bilbo. He’s such a wise old dear.” There was a brief pause and Frodo asked quietly, “You love him too, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam answered and was surprised at how easy that was to admit.  
  
“I’m glad,” Frodo said warmly and slid his arm around Sam’s elbow. Sam bit his lip and suppressed a shiver. _He thinks of me as a child,_ he thought ruefully as Frodo began to whistle. They were moving out into the fields now away from the row homes and kitchen gardens.  
  
“I went down to the orchard the other day. It looks as though the plum trees and the cherry trees are loaded,” Frodo said, looking out along the hedge rows.  
  
“That they are, sir,” Sam agreed, “It was all that rain we had in early spring. In a week or two I can start picking and you can have cherry tarts and plum pudding and fresh fruit for tea and Mr. Bilbo has been teaching me pie making. Did you get any of the blackberry pie we made the other day?” Sam was vaguely aware that he was jabbering but Frodo had never minded before.  
  
“Oh you made that? It was lovely. I had some for tea yesterday with cream and honey drizzled on top.”  
  
“Lor but that sounds wonderful,” Sam sighed.  
  
“I’m making you hungry aren’t I?” Frodo murmured. Sam kept the blush out of his cheeks but coughed slightly.  
  
“Er, thirsty actually. Can we stop at the creek?” he asked.  
  
“I’ve got my waterskin,” Frodo said and pulled his arm away to root in the mail bag strapped to his side.  
  
“Oh that’s-” Sam babbled but Frodo pushed it into his hands, ignoring his protest with an indulgent look. Sam uncapped the leather bladder and drank.  
  
“Have as much as you like. We can refill it at the creek,” Frodo said.  
  
“Thank you sir,” Sam said. They walked another mile in relative silence until they found the creek at Porter’s Bridge. Sam ducked under the bridge and refilled Frodo’s water skin, handing it back up to him. Frodo took it and with a slight hum threw back his head and gulped down the creek water. Sam watched him in silence until Frodo lowered the skin and noticed Sam’s gaze.  
  
“What?” he demanded. Sam grinned helplessly and reach up for the skin again. “I’m not done, Samwise,” Frodo said, a smile threatening his face, “and for your information there is no gentlehobbit way to drink from a waterskin.” Sam sat back on his haunches.  
  
“Then is there a gentlehobbit way to drink from a creek? That seems just as messy.” Frodo gazed down at the creek.  
  
“I always cupped my hands and drank quickly before it all leaked out,” he said.  
  
“That’s what I do,” Sam said and decided he was still thirsty and bent to the creek.  
  
“You have to remember my training as a gentlehobbit was spotty at best,” Frodo sighed. Sam paused in his drinking to look up.  
  
“You’re a fine gentlehobbit, sir,” Sam said. Frodo raised his eyebrows skeptically but then seemed to change his mind and gave Sam a slight smile.  
  
“Thank you Sam,” he said. “Just don’t try and push that theory on any of my relations.” He passed the skin back and stood stretching. Sam refilled the skin once more and capped it, frowning. He was lost in a memory of Frodo catching him by the collar when he had been six years old and wiping his grubby face with a handkerchief. Sam had stood there and let him with nary a thought that such wasn’t proper, that it weren’t done by gentlehobbits for servant babes. He had taken Frodo’s care for granted and realized that he still took much of it for granted.  
  
“Sam?” Sam jolted out of thought and looked up at Frodo who was watching him with a slight frown.  
  
“You’re more of a gentlehobbit than any of your relations, save Mr. Bilbo, cause of how you care for us all,” he said in a rush. Frodo’s eyes went wide and Sam closed his mouth with a snap. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep blurting out stupid things to Frodo? He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh. He could never hope to have enough finesse to court a gentlehobbit.  
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the warm weight of hands settle on his shoulders and opened his eyes to see Frodo peering at him with a puzzled smile.  
  
“Sam-dear, what has gotten in to you today?” he asked. Sam hung his head.  
  
“I don’t know Mr. Frodo,” he said miserably. Frodo gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shoulder before letting go.  
  
“Poor Sam,” he said, “You are a sweet lad. I know you think you’re silly but you really do cheer me up. Thank you for saying those things.” He turned away and Sam couldn’t help a smile spreading over his face. If Frodo was cheered by him being a fool, well that was a service Sam Gamgee could provide.  
  
“Come on, we need to walk faster,” Frodo said, “the Browntrees are last on the lane and we need to get there with an hour of daylight at least for the picking that Bilbo wants.”  
  
“Oh, how many other farms are we visiting?” Sam asked, bounding back up onto the path.  
  
“The Greybarrows and the Goodbodys,” Frodo said, “They should be quick though.”  
  
They were quick. Frodo paused long enough to have a cup of tea and talk politely with the gammers of the farms, as the males were out in the field, and then they were off again, heading down the dusty road. The papers Bilbo wanted were tucked neatly in Frodo’s bag and Sam could hear the paper crackle as the bag moved against Frodo’s side.  
  
“Have you heard any new songs at the Dragon?” Frodo asked. Sam immediately thought of the one he had heard just last week but its theme centered on an unfortunate shepherd who took some bad medicine and his resulting bowel troubles. Bill Proudfoot had thought it very funny.  
  
“Er. No,” Sam said quickly and felt his face got hot at the idea of singing such a thing in Frodo’s presence. _He took a pill without reading the box, Before he could strip, turds were flying like rocks._ “What about you sir?” Sam asked.  
  
“Haven’t heard anything new. I don’t get out much you know,” Frodo said ruefully, “My cousins think I’m an awful duffer. But then they think everyone who doesn’t go dancing every week is a duffer.”  
  
“Well, Hobbiton isn’t as lively as what I’ve heard of Buckland,” Sam said amiably. They walked up the incline to the Browntree farm and found Mrs. Browntree feeding chickens in front of the smial. She looked up at their approach and gave a gap toothed grin.  
  
“Afternoon Mr. Frodo. Mr. Bilbo must have sent you? He did seem keen on them strawberries.” she went to the window and set her basket of corn down.  
  
“Yes Mistress,” Frodo said politely, “Maybe a little too keen. I hope he hasn’t bullied you into promising him more than he ought to be getting.” The farm wife turned back giving Frodo a smile that made the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkle with mirth.  
  
“Bless you Mr. Frodo, but we’ve got a bumper crop of berries and they need picking before they rot in the field or the birds get at them. Mr. Bilbo is more than welcome to them and he give us a tidy discount on the rent for it, so you take as much as you can carry and eat as many as you like, you too Sam-lad.” Sam touched his cap and gave a little smile of gratitude. She glanced at the sky, “You’d best get picking. I’ll just heat the kettle and call you when the tea is done.” Frodo bowed, touching his own cap and thanked her in smooth tones, while Sam looked on admiringly. Bilbo had long ago warned Sam of Frodo’s ability to lay on charm when he truly put his mind to it. “Just be mindful lad,” Bilbo had cautioned, “my boy will have you catering to his every whim with a flash of those bright eyes and honeyed words. He’s very Brandybuckish in that way.” It was good that Bilbo had warned him for Sam had found he had a weakness for those eyes. Not that Frodo ever turned that charm on him. Not that Sam would have minded if he had.  
  
“You didn’t tell her we already had tea…twice?” Sam murmured as they made their way to the rear of the smial to the strawberry fields.  
  
“It would disappoint her if I refused,” Frodo murmured back, “she would feel as though she was not giving us good care as a host.” Sam nodded slowly. They set to work picking the berries and Sam fell into the rhythm of work easily bent to the field. He filled one basket quickly and turned to see Frodo picking more slowly, looking uncomfortable in his hot weskit, crouched in the dirt. Sam almost offered to finish the picking himself, but such an offer would make Frodo feel foolish and useless. Sam knew how embarrassing it was to feel useless, so he kept his mouth shut and began filling the next basket. A thought occurred to him then and he sat back, taking a berry and munched on it, enjoying the sun warmed sweet fruit. He ate slowly and cast a sly grin Frodo’s way. Frodo watched him and tried to look stern, but Sam could tell he was faking.  
  
“I would accuse you of shirking but I see you’ve already picked twice as much as me,” Frodo said ruefully. Sam laughed. Mrs. Browntree brought them cups filled to the brim with hot weak herb tea but Sam was grateful for the pause and sat enjoying his cup looking over the fields. He gauged the light and estimated they only had another hour of strong daylight. He heard a sighed next to him and turned to see Frodo peering into his own cup, looking dreamy and disconnected from his surroundings.  
  
“Are you tired Mr. Frodo?” he asked quietly. Frodo’s eyes lifted and he focused on Sam for a moment before shaking his head.  
  
“No. This just reminds me of Buckland,” he said, “I haven’t done work in a field in years.” Sam reflected on his own numerous trips to the Cotton farm to help with the haying or planting. “Not that this is field work,” Frodo sighed again, “But in Buckland we would work for hours in the sun and take rests like this by the field side and then tramp back to the Hall together. I miss being in a group like that sometimes, I think.” Sam stared, shocked by the notion of Frodo doing manual labor in a field and felt ashamed that he should have thought his master so soft. “But,” Frodo went on with a smile, “I’d still not trade those few moments of happiness for the life I have now. For all the companionship Brandy Hall offered I never felt as though it was my home, more like a temporary barracks. Bilbo makes me feel so wanted and at home, and I haven’t felt that since…” he broke off and smiled, sipping his tea. “And I feel like I can do some good here. Back at the Hall I was a tag-along and a bother, but here I have a purpose. I want to help the people of the West Farthing feel secure against shortage and scarcity, I want to preserve the folk tales and translate the great tales and tell them to the little lads and lasses who would otherwise never know anything of the peoples beyond the Shire,” he took another sip of tea and added quietly, “I want to please you all so very much.”  
  
“You do Mr. Frodo…” Sam murmured. Frodo laughed and shook his head.  
  
“Hardly. I don’t fit in here. The folk of the West Farthing think me a nuisance, I’m sure. Still, it’s a nice thing to aspire to I suppose.” Sam gulped. He had been spellbound by Frodo’s outpouring. The young master hardly ever spoke with such heart felt tones and his voice had softened, deepening as he spoke his piece. Was it right, Sam wondered, that he should be so affected by a lad’s voice, that it should send shivers down his back and a flush to his face? Right or no, he couldn't help the desire to hear Frodo speak like that again, and his mind was already spinning fancies of Frodo standing close to him and speaking into his ear, soft words in that deep heartfelt tone.  
  
Frodo turned and looked up, his eyes catching the light and froze Sam where he sat. _Sweet stars above,_ Sam thought, _save me… If I didn’t love him before…_ Frodo smiled and pulled Sam’s hand into his own. Sam closed his eyes against the throbbing pulse beating through him.  
  
“Dear Sam,” he smiled, “enough talk I suppose, we had better finish the baskets or Bilbo will have both our hides.” He dropped Sam’s hand and plucked the last basket, setting out into the field. Sam rose more slowly, cradling his own hand and stared. He felt dizzy but it wouldn’t do to be caught staring so he ambled along, following Frodo and the last basket.  
  
_If he led me into a thistle patch I think I’d follow him,_ Sam thought frantically, _even if it was filled with bees and poison holly and and… and was on fire._ Sam winced and bent to begin picking, gazing at Frodo furtively. _Bloody damnation,_ he thought resignedly, _why does Bilbo Baggins have to be right about everything?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be adding notes at the end about the meanings of the flowers that Sam gives Frodo. The Language of Flowers meanings seem to vary a little source to source but you'll get the idea. Assigning meanings to flowers has been around a long time, but it got very popular with stuffy Victorians. Perfect for people who couldn't say what they wanted. Sam selects flowers with meanings because he assumes Frodo will understand the meanings. And... Frodo doesn't.

The next morning Sam made his way up the hill as day broke across fields. He slipped in the kitchen door and found Bilbo sitting down to first breakfast. The master looked up and smiled at Sam’s appearance, not looking at all surprised.  
  
“Good morning Sam-lad,” he said with satisfaction, “Did you sleep well?”  
  
“… Not really Mr. Bilbo,” Sam answered truthfully.  
  
“Sit down and have some tea,” Bilbo said kindly and reached for the tea pot. “Cream?”  
  
“Thank you sir,” Sam murmured.  
  
“There you are,” Bilbo said as he passed the china cup and Sam took it. “Well?”  
  
“I want to court him, sir,” Sam murmured into his tea. “That is, I want to try, anyway.”  
  
“Very good,” Bilbo said with undisguised satisfaction. Sam look across the table at his master mournfully and held his cup tighter.  
  
“But I don’t know how. Da gave me some ideas, but I can’t just go to Mr. Frodo and ask him to walk out with me like he was some farm lass,” Sam murmured.  
  
“You asked your father for advice on how to court Frodo?” Bilbo asked looking a little surprised. Sam stifled a laugh.  
  
“Bless you sir, no,” he said chuckling then broke off and gulped a sip of tea feeling suddenly worried, “Oh, when da gets wind of me even thinking of casting my eyes on the heir to the Hill…”  
  
“I will help with that,” Bilbo said soothingly, “Appeasing Hamfast’s sensibilities is something I have quite a lot of experience with. But let’s not worry about that quite yet.”  
  
“How do gentlehobbits court, sir?” Sam asked anxiously and Bilbo shifted uncomfortably.  
  
“Er, well, there’s a lot of plotting and witty turns of phrases and something or another about cards…” he broke off and shook his head, “lad, don’t worry about the goings on of gentlehobbits. They can be quite silly and none of that will help you. Don’t court a gentlehobbit, court the lad you’ve known nearly all your life. Frodo is not his title, or even his future title, and he won’t thank you for treating him so.”  
  
“If you say so,” Sam said sighing.  
  
“I’m not being very helpful, am I?” Bilbo said sympathetically. Sam managed a smile.  
  
“Yes you are, sir,” he said, “it’s just that this all wants careful thinking on, and I can’t help feel I haven’t the wits for it.”  
  
“Yes you have,” Bilbo said quietly, “You are quite bright whether you know it or not, and Frodo adores you just the way you are. I think sincerity is what will serve you best with him.”  
  
“You may be right,” Sam murmured, “But that’s hard; to say out loud what I feel when I think on him.” He was aware of Bilbo’s attention focusing suddenly on him and looked up to see Bilbo gazing at him with a thoughtful expression.  
  
“You must’nt be ashamed of your reactions; that’s quite natural. You’re old enough to know that,” Bilbo said and Sam felt himself blush hot.  
  
“That’s not what I mean Mr. Bilbo,” he choked. Bilbo’s eyebrows raised just a hair.  
  
“Ah,” he said and didn’t sound surprised, “What then?”  
  
“You’ll think me a daft little tweener who don’t know aught what he says but,” Sam took a breath, “Oh sir, I think maybe I love him. For a long time now.” He set his cheeks in his hands, “I know you aren’t supposed to go loving afore you even speak of courting, that it sets you up in a bad way for disappointment, and I fear I’ll be disappointed, but I can’t say it ain’t so, not if I’m truthful.”  
  
“Oh, nay lad,” Bilbo said slowly and Sam looked up to see the master giving him a heartfelt smile, “I think it’s a fine thing Samwise. Don’t be unhappy about it.” Bilbo pushed a tray of breads towards Sam. “Have something to eat. Hm, no, this makes me all the more determined for the two of you to be bound up in each other’s lives…”  
  
“Mr. Frodo won’t like us plotting on him,” Sam said almost chuckling at the look of determination on his master’s face.  
  
“Why not? We know what’s best for the lad,” Bilbo said taking a slice of bread himself and buttered it absently.  
  
“Oh dear, and what is the plot?” Frodo’s voice came and Sam jumped guiltily. He turned to see Frodo staring at them both, his expression wary, but Sam could see the light of amusement in his eyes as well. A bolt of fear struck through Sam. Had Frodo heard what he had just said? He paused in frozen suspense, but Frodo didn’t act disconcerted, only curious.  
  
“Never you mind. Sit down and have breakfast,” Bilbo said, turning over an additional tea cup from the tray. Frodo sat but regarded Bilbo with a sharp look.  
  
“I’m not letting my guard down, not if the two of you have joined forces against me,” he said as Bilbo poured his tea.  
  
“Mr. Frodo, we’d never be against you!” Sam cried out in dismay before he could stop himself. He felt relief despite his words, for Frodo must have come out only at the very end. Frodo chuckled at his expression and focused his gaze on Sam in a way that made Sam feel very hot.  
  
“Oh no Samwise? I don’t know, I’d not like to have to compete with Bilbo for your loyalty. I would surely lose that battle.”  
  
“I don’t know about that,” Bilbo said gruffly. “Sam was just telling me how very much he admires you.” Sam gasped and felt his face flush with heat. “Can’t imagine why,” Bilbo added with a smile as he handed Frodo his tea. Though Sam had his eyes firmly fixed on the table he felt Frodo’s eyes on him.  
  
“Bilbo, don’t embarrass poor Sam, and before a proper breakfast,” Frodo scolded and set a steadying hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam looked up at that and found Frodo peering kindly at him. “Never mind it, I know half of what Bilbo says is nonsense.” _It isn’t nonsense!_ Sam thought frantically and tried to say it, but he was frozen to his seat by that warm hand and those eyes watching him with benign fondness. “Have a scone,” Frodo added and passed him the basket, withdrawing his hand. Sam bit his lip against the flood of words he wanted to say everything from, “I’d better not sir, it isn’t my place to be sitting down to breakfast with you sirs,” to “Thank you kindly Mr. Frodo, it’s always nice to have a good tuck-in at breakfast before work in the garden,” and then worst of all, “Please put your hand back on me.” What he mumbled instead was,  
  
“… Yes sir. Beggin’ your pardon,” and reached into the basket for the nearest scone. He sensed glee from Bilbo, though he couldn’t fathom why the master should be so pleased.  
  
“I was thinking of going into town,” Frodo said absently as he buttered his own scone. Bilbo looked up.  
  
“Take Sam, would you?” he said and Frodo shot him a curious glance.  
  
“Whatever for?” he asked.  
  
“Oh, I’ve a list of thing I want picked up. Sam can help carry,” Bilbo said affecting nonchalance, but Frodo didn’t seem to be fooled. He shot suspicious looks at the both of them, which made Sam only blush harder.  
  
“Sam already missed work in the garden yesterday, surely he’s needing to get back to that. I can manage.”  
  
“It’s not any trouble, sir,” Sam said quietly, even though what Frodo said was true. This was a busy season and he really did have things to tend to, but he would gladly play catch up. He looked up eagerly at Frodo but saw his young master’s eyes locked on Bilbo with a look that Sam had never seen there, something like hurt. Bilbo gazed back, caught off guard by the look and he opened his mouth but Frodo looked away quickly.  
  
“Very well. We’ll go when you’re ready Sam.” He stood and put his tea cup down, and added “I’ll just get myself sorted.” Frodo left, disappearing quick down Bag End’s winding hall. Sam gaped after him, confused and a little hurt himself, not understanding why Frodo would be so unhappy about going to town with him. Had he offended him?  
  
“Oh dear,” Bilbo muttered and added a quiet curse as he rose. He met Sam’s eyes and shook his head, “It’s me he’s upset at lad, not you. I had best go remedy this,” he sighed and followed Frodo’s path down the hall. Sam sat still as he heard a knock from deeper in the smial and Bilbo’s polite entry to be admitted into Frodo’s study. There was a pause, more voices, and then a click as Bilbo closed the door behind him. Sam sat very still then took a deep breath and rose.  
  
It was too tempting. Even though Bilbo had said it wasn’t his fault Sam couldn’t bear it if he had done something to cause that look in Frodo’s eyes, and it clearly did have something to do with him, or why had Frodo gone so quiet when Bilbo said Sam was to accompany Frodo to town?  
  
Maybe Frodo had heard more than he had thought. Maybe he knew Sam was wanting to court him; maybe he was angry at Sam and at Bilbo for thinking to match him. That thought chilled Sam and almost made him want to flee but he held resolute. He slipped out the kitchen door and went to the flower patch and hedge near the study window. He knew that Frodo usually left the window open if the weather was fair, and sure enough as he neared he could hear the voices of his masters clearly. He ducked down under the hedge and took up his hidden post, listening to the conversation. If his Gaffer ever caught him doing such… But Sam dismissed the thought, for Frodo’s voice came floating through the window to him, high and distressed.  
  
“--bring shame to you! You needn’t have Sam chaperone me every time I leave the smial.”  
  
“Oh Frodo, that’s not what I meant by it,” Bilbo said contritely. “I really do have things I want Sam to fetch and carry.”  
  
“And is that the only reason you’re sending him with me? I seem to recall a lot of chores in the past week that somehow involve Sam being my shadow. You’re not going to tell me that is a coincidence?” There was a pause.  
  
“No, my lad,” Bilbo said very quietly and Sam felt for the master. He knew how much loyalty and affection lay between Bilbo and Frodo and he knew Bilbo would never lie to his young charge. “I set the two of you together because I think you ought to get to know the lad better, and he you.”  
  
“… Why?” Frodo asked and there was a note of weakness to his voice.  
  
“The pair of you are a good match,” Bilbo said and his words were followed by a loud curse from Frodo. “Keep your voice down,” Bilbo warned him and Sam blushed hard.  
  
“Bilbo Baggins!” Frodo said, not heeding his uncle’s warning, “Are you matchmaking me with Sam Gamgee?”  
  
“Don’t take that tone with me,” Bilbo said a little sharply, “Are you implying the boy is beneath your consideration?” there was silence and Sam felt his heart fall to his feet. Of course Frodo would only see him as a gardener’s boy, Bilbo was the only one who thought he could be more.  
  
“Bilbo… he’s…”  
  
“I was under the impression that class distinctions didn’t matter to you in this area.” There was a long silence until Bilbo’s voice came again, “Oh, my dear lad. Forgive me, you know I’m no good at these things.”  
  
“Then why are you trying to make this match?” Frodo said his voice low and cool. “Is this some plot to shock Aunt Lobelia into an early grave?”  
  
“No Frodo,” Bilbo said forcefully, “don’t be silly,” he paused, “… do you think it would?” to Sam’s surprise Frodo laughed loudly and some of the tension in the conversation drained.  
  
“No, I’m afraid Aunt Lobelia is made of sterner stuff.” Frodo sighed, “you’re very silly Uncle, but I suppose it was my happiness you were after wasn't it?”  
  
“Yes it was,” Bilbo said.  
  
“Well, it was a nice try. You could have found worse matches after all,” Frodo said ruefully. “And I should be glad I caught this before you got too far into planning this tryst. Poor Sam would never be able to look me in the face again if he knew what you intended.”  
  
“Ah,” Bilbo said quietly and there was silence that once again bit into Sam. _Oh dear,_ he thought.  
  
“Bilbo you didn’t tell him did you?” Frodo hissed.  
  
“He told me this morning that he wants to try and court you,” Bilbo said, a little proudly.  
  
“Oh by heavens!” Frodo cried. “Samwise is an innocent child! Or he was until you started putting thoughts in his head!”  
  
“Really Frodo, Sam isn’t so simple minded as all that. He is quite able to make his own choices, and he isn’t a child. Hasn’t been for some years now. And he nearly refused when I gave him permission to court you.”  
  
“… You gave him permission to court me?” there was that note of weakness in Frodo’s voice again.  
  
“We’re going to do this properly,” Bilbo said primly and Frodo gave a disbelieving laugh. “What?” Bilbo asked testily.  
  
“… I don’t think anyone could call this proper,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“You must get over that notion, my boy,” Bilbo said gently, “I think it’s quite proper for two people to keep company who feel affection- perhaps even love- for one another, as you and Sam do.”  
  
“You think I love him?” Frodo asked and Sam felt the breath in his lungs freeze. Frodo hadn’t said it with arrogance, he hadn’t jeered at the notion, but neither did it sound as if…  
  
“Well, you do, don’t you?” Bilbo asked quietly.  
  
“I suppose in way…”  
  
“I thought as much,” Bilbo said smugly and Sam stifled a cry of joy. Frodo loved him? He didn’t care if it was only as a friend, the idea that Frodo loved him in any fashion made Sam’s head spin.  
  
“And what makes you think that he loves me?” Frodo asked. Sam blushed thinking back to his words to Bilbo that morning. Oh, Bilbo knew, he knew and surely he would tell Frodo…  
  
“Quite a lot of things make me think that my boy,” Bilbo said, “But my opinion really isn’t important in this matter. Maybe you should ask him. Sam would know better than either of us, after all.”  
  
“Oh Bilbo…”  
  
“Really lad, the boy poisons people for you,” Bilbo laughed.  
  
“We never proved that,” Frodo replied dryly, but Sam could hear the note of humor returning to Frodo’s voice. He was glad at least that his trifling with the rhizomes was being looked on with indulgence…  
  
“… Why did Sam nearly refuse me?” Frodo asked quietly and Sam gritted his teeth. He hadn’t refused Frodo. He had only thought-  
  
“He thought,” Bilbo said softly, “that it wasn’t his place to court a gentlehobbit.”  
  
“Oh of course,” Frodo said in a small voice.  
  
“But he seems to have gotten over that notion. His chief concern this morning was that he didn’t know how to ask. He didn’t think the traditional invitation to walk out would do it I’m afraid.” Frodo only sighed.  
  
“Poor Sam,” he said.  
  
“Frodo, you will let him court you, won’t you?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“No,” Frodo said quickly and just like that Sam felt the elation inside him evaporate.  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo cried in disappointment, “why ever not?”  
  
“It’s impossible,” Frodo said sternly, “I know you think it great fun to disrupt and disappoint polite society but you and I have the power and the standing to do that,” Frodo continued quietly, “Sam doesn’t. It would be terrible on him, no matter what he thinks he feels for me.” He paused and sighed, “Now, I think we’ve talked on this long enough and kept Sam waiting for far too long.” Sam came back to his senses with a jolt and realized that he had better be back in the kitchen. “Unless you don’t want him to go to town with me anymore?”  
  
“I do,” Bilbo said, somewhat shakily, “I really do have a list…” But Sam didn’t hear anymore he was hurrying back through the garden to the kitchen door and was seated at the table in a matter of moments. His heart was racing and he hurriedly wiped his cheeks and blew his nose into his handkerchief as the sound of Frodo’s study door opening drifted to him down the long hall.

♦

The walk to Hobbiton was longer than it had any right to be. Frodo was very quiet and Sam could feel his master’s tension in every step. When Frodo had come back to the kitchen he had put on a forced cheer that made Sam feel even worse than he already did but fortunately he had gone out to the hallway to find his walking stick and Bilbo had come into the kitchen, taking Sam quickly by the shoulder.  
  
“Sam-lad, I’ve fouled it all up. He knows you mean to court him and he’s convinced he must protect you from your own folly.”  
  
“Oh Mr. Bilbo,” Sam murmured. He felt so miserable that his will was gone and Bilbo wasn’t paying him any mind.  
  
“I’m sorry I put you in this position lad, I know you wanted to do this the right way and now Frodo… If he’s difficult, just come back. I don’t need the things from town so badly that they can’t wait.” Bilbo sighed heavily and rubbed Sam shoulder, “My dear boy. I'm so sorry.” Sam couldn’t find any words but he realized suddenly that Bilbo Baggins cared a great deal for him. He nodded, feeling his throat too tight for words and slipped out of the kitchen, hurrying to catch Frodo up.  
  
Frodo had said very little for the entire mile they had walked. No, he had said nothing, Sam corrected himself. Just as Sam had been plodding down the stone steps of Bag End he had paused by the flower garden and without quite knowing why had grasped one of the early tulips, plucked it, and slipped it into his jacket. If there was any hope at all…  
  
He had thought Frodo would speak on it once they were out of sight of Bag End, but that hadn’t happened. Frodo’s tension had only grown and now his hands, when Sam spied them from his position slightly behind, were shaking as he struggled to grip his walking stick. Sam felt pity, and wished he could set Frodo’s mind to ease, but the only way to do that would be for him to speak first. The thought horrified him but Sam was quickly realizing that he couldn’t bear for Frodo to continue on like this.  
  
“Mr. Frodo…?” Sam murmured, drawing on a force of will he hadn’t known he had. Frodo slowed and turned to him, his expression terrified. Sam had never seen such a look on Frodo’s face and he gaped at it. Frodo blinked and the expression was gone to be replaced with a more normal reserved curiosity with only the slightest apprehension in his eyes.  
  
“Yes lad?” he said. Sam stiffened slightly at the formal tone. He didn’t know how to talk around issues or introduce things slowly. He wasn’t so artful, but he had to say something.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo told you I want you court you, didn’t he?” he said quietly. Frodo’s mouth tightened but Sam went on quickly, knowing once Frodo began to speak it would all be over. “Ah, he should not a done that.” Frodo stopped, caught off guard.  
  
“Shouldn’t he?” he said in a stiff tone.  
  
“Nay, it ought to have been me doing the asking, as I meant to once I had figured out how,” Sam sighed, “Mind, I was that nervous about it and I still am.” Frodo peered at him and slowly his expression relaxed.  
  
“Sam, you mustn’t listen to Bilbo. He means well, but he doesn’t always know best,” he said with a fond smile. Sam eased a little at Frodo’s smile but he could feel that stubborn Baggins will setting into place.  
  
“You’re thinking I’m asking just because Mr. Bilbo spoke on it?” he asked softly. Frodo sighed and stepped closer, fixing Sam in his gaze.  
  
“You are aren’t you?” he asked and Sam knew, just as Frodo knew, that when Frodo looked at him that way, there was no possibility that Sam could tell him anything but the full truth.  
  
“He set me to thinking it was possible, aye,” Sam said, meeting those bright eyes. “But the way I feel for you? And the wanting to…” Sam broke off and his face flooded with warmth, “… I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t had those thoughts before.” Frodo closed his eyes and to Sam’s astonishment his master blushed.  
  
“I know those thoughts can be insistent,” Frodo said very quietly, “but often it can be a very bad idea to follow through with them, all the more so if they are on another lad.” He opened his eyes then, “My dear Sam, there are very hard consequences for loving another lad, and I never want you to go through that.” He let out a shaky laugh, “Bilbo thinks that we are a convenient pair. But I’m afraid that is the farthest thing from the truth.”  
  
“Aye,” Sam agreed, “It would be hard for us to pair, and that’s why you can’t be thinking I’d be making this choice to try lightly. You can’t be thinking that I’d go so far just ‘cause Mr. Bilbo says it ought to be so.” Frodo frowned but Sam went on quickly, drawing the tulip from his jacket, “You needn’t give me an answer now, for I had time to think on it and it wouldn’t be fair for you not to,” he held the flower out, “and you needn’t say yes to keep my friendship neither. I’ll love you no matter what you say, but will you think on it? That’s all I ask.” There was a long silence in which Frodo stared at him in astonishment, as if seeing Sam for the first time. Sam stubbornly stood his ground and held the flower steadily, refusing to allow his hand to shake and show how terrified he was. At long last Frodo reached up and took the flower cautiously.  
  
“I’ll think on it,” he said, his voice unsteady. Sam breathed out a sigh of relief.  
  
“Well, I’d reckon we’ve dallied long enough,” Sam said and seeing Frodo’s eyes widen added quickly, “Mr. Bilbo will be thinking we’ve gone to Bree for his groceries.” Frodo let out a laugh, his face relaxing.  
  
“Yes, and he’ll expect an account of our adventures along the way,” he said. They set off walking again and Sam took up his place once more slightly behind Frodo, ever so often casting a thoughtful gaze toward his master. That was how he saw Frodo slip the tulip into his own inner jacket pocket, and then button it, protectively. For some reason that gave Sam great satisfaction.

♦

Frodo slipped down the hall, the sounds of Sam unloading the bags in the kitchen behind him. He paused at the door to his bedroom and gazed back toward the green door. What a very peculiar day it had turned out to be, he reflected.  
  
He heard the sound of the kitchen door opening and Bilbo greeting Sam. He even heard Bilbo’s lowered voice asking,  
  
“Well…?”  
  
“It’s alright sir,” Sam said quietly, and added, “He’ll think on it.” Frodo stood still and listened as Bilbo chuckled.  
  
“Well done Samwise.”  
  
Frodo grinned, shaking his head, feeling suddenly fond of both of them. He pushed his bedroom door open and went in, closing it soundlessly behind him.  
  
Bilbo was a rascal, but he had a well-meaning heart, and Frodo could not be angry with him, even though he had drawn Sam into this disaster. And Sam, dear Sam, he couldn’t be angry with him either. Frodo stood in front of his washstand and unbuttoned his overcoat, reached into the inner jacket pocket and drew out the slightly wilted red flower Sam had given him. He held it and gazed on the pretty little thing before pouring out some of his wash water into a stray tea cup that had migrated to the little table, and put the flower into the cup. It sagged a bit, but it was still quite nice. Frodo found himself studying the flower, and recalled how all through their trip into town he had been mindful not to crush the plant, how he had always been aware of its presence.  
  
Frodo found his light mood fade a bit. Sam was a sweet and dear fellow and Frodo could never stomach the idea of hurting him. Yet, he could no more stomach the idea of going along with this courtship; It would end in heartbreak and probably worse, Frodo knew that without a doubt. He sat down heavily and felt suddenly no older than the seventeen year old he had been when Seredic had discovered him kissing his lad in the woodshop. His older cousin had grasped Frodo roughly by the collar and drug him from the shop, as Frodo cried and cursed, terrified.  
  
He had got off lightly, and had been reminded of that fact many times by his elders. If his name had not been Baggins he would have been whipped. Frodo recalled being left in his guardian’s study after Seredic and Gorbulas left. Saradoc had peered at him looking uncomfortable as he came from around his desk and patted Frodo’s back.  
  
“There now, enough of that, stop crying lad,” the Master of Brandy Hall had told him gruffly, “This sort of thing is far more common than those two make out. They’re just trying to scare some sense into you.” He had pushed Frodo out into the hall and told him to go to bed and never mind about it. He had felt slightly bewildered at Saradoc’s disinterest, but then Saradoc had never had much time for him. And then shortly after that, talk had begun about sending him away somewhere.  
  
_Ah,_ he had thought then, _Uncle Saradoc really does want to get rid of me. Of course he does. He won’t want his son looking up to one like me. Dear little Merry already follows me like a pup when he escapes his governess._  
  
Frodo could never put that fear on anyone else, let alone Sam. And too, Sam would take the full brunt of punishment when it came, and it would come, for his name wasn’t Baggins and he had no one who could whisk him away and shield him, as Bilbo had done for Frodo.  
  
Frodo wouldn’t let that happen. He only had to find a way to spare Sam’s feelings. It seemed as though he had got himself worked up about the matter, but Frodo felt fairly confident he could talk Sam out of it, while still assuring the boy that he was valued. Someday they would laugh about all this.  
  
With that thought he rose once more and decided he really ought to go and help put away the food stuffs he and Sam had brought back.

♦

The next morning Frodo rose rather late. He saw that the sun had already risen above the hill and was streaming into his bedroom as he dressed and washed. It was probably past second breakfast Frodo thought, a little annoyed that Bilbo hadn’t woken him for it, but then there was always elevensees, which couldn’t be too far away.  
  
Bilbo had surprised Frodo by not speaking on the matter of Sam’s courtship. Frodo had expected to have Bilbo argue at long lengths to convince him, once Sam had gone home, but Bilbo remained mute on the issue, other than to gently say that he still thought it a good match. Frodo had watched him warily through supper, realizing that Bilbo had discovered that arguing a point with his nephew would only make said nephew cling more stubbornly to his position. Well played old hobbit, Frodo thought ruefully.  
There was a tap from the window and Frodo turned at the sound.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” called Sam’s voice, though the gardener had not appeared in the window. Frodo finished buttoning his weskit and went to the window, pushing it open and peered out. Sam was below and off to the side a bit, looking up at him, smiling pleasantly. “Good morning Mr. Frodo,” he said. Frodo could help but return the smile.  
  
“Good morning Sam. How are you?” he asked politely.  
  
“Very well thank you,” Sam said and stepped forward to the window box and Frodo realized he was holding a collection of pretty white flowers, bunched together and tied with a bit of string. Sam held them up to him, beaming. “These are for you. Begging your pardon.” Frodo tried not to gasp, but he wasn’t sure he hid all of his surprise or reluctance, but Sam held them stubbornly up, his eyes gleaming in a way Frodo had not seen before. Frodo forced himself to relax and smile and be gracious. He was, after all, a gentlehobbit and he would not refuse such a gift. He reached out, as he had the day before and took the flowers saying as he did,  
  
“These are lovely Samwise. Thank you. You needn’t give me presents though, and Bilbo will be annoyed if the flower gardens start to lose their blooms.” Sam colored at that, but his smile remained, though it turned shy as he peered up.  
  
“These came from my garden,” he said quietly. Frodo paused, unexpectedly touched by this statement, possibly because he hadn’t known that Sam had a garden of his own at home.  
  
“Oh,” he said lamely and cast his eyes down at the flowers, “As I said before… they are lovely.” He looked up again and met Sam’s eyes feeling troubled. “I haven’t… That is, I-”  
  
“I’m not looking for an answer,” Sam said and his voice was filled that that same quiet confidence that had shocked Frodo so the day before. “I’d rather you took at least a week.” Frodo blinked at the cheek of this statement, and at the interruption, but then this whole endeavor was cheek personified. He crossed his arms and gazed down at Sam who had gone quiet.  
  
“Very well,” Frodo answered finally, “a week.” He withdrew, “Good morning then.”  
  
“Good morning, sir,” Sam answered him. Frodo turned away and held the flowers. They had long thin strong stalks and the blooms themselves were white with a touch of purple at their center. They had a slight sweet smell, like jasmine, not overpowering but refreshing in their own way. Frodo decided these really deserved more than a convenient tea cup and set off to the kitchen to find a vase.  
  
Bilbo was in the kitchen, drinking coffee and absently pushing piles of scrambled eggs around his plate as he read his post. He looked up as Frodo entered and his eyes went immediately to the flowers in nephew’s hand. A broad smile broke out on his face and he looked down at his eggs, trying to hide his glee. Frodo pointedly ignored him.  
  
“Come have some breakfast, lad,” Bilbo said, “I saved you a bun.” Frodo did look over that, he liked buns and Bilbo wasn’t always charitable enough to save him one. Hurriedly Frodo located a vase gathering dust on the pantry shelf and set his flowers in it, bringing the vase into the kitchen, and sat down at the breakfast table.  
  
“Good morning Bilbo,” Frodo said belatedly as he reached for the bun and put it on his plate.  
  
“Good morning. In need of some tea are we?” Bilbo asked kindly and began pouring him cup.  
  
“Yes please,” Frodo said in a subdued tone. “I thought I might go for a walk after breakfast.”  
  
“It’s a nice day for it,” Bilbo said unsurprised, “Would you like me to pack anything for you?” Frodo looked up and chuckled a bit.  
  
“No thank you. You haven’t packed a bag for me in years.” Bilbo passed him a cup and looked a little sheepish.  
  
“Well, no. I suppose I feel a bit guilty for meddling so.”  
  
“I find it very hard to believe that you are sorry for that,” Frodo said as he munched. Bilbo thought about that for a moment.  
  
“I do feel guilty that the matter has worried you.”  
  
“Well, I can manage,” Frodo said. The rest of breakfast passed easily enough and by ten thirty Frodo was off with his walking stick and bag, tramping out toward the western ends of the Baggins lands. He was headed for a spot deep in the wood that ran along the Needlehole road. There the creek split off and years ago Frodo had found a stretch of the creek land that dipped down into a sheltered forest valley, far from the road. It was one of the quietest places Frodo had ever found, where the only sound came from the creek water sliding over rocks and the occasional bird song. This was the place he went to when he needed to think.  
  
Frodo found his spot by the creek side and took from his bag a blanket, which he sat upon, and watched the water bubble cheerily before him.  
  
As much as Frodo hated to admit it, there was part of this situation that was tempting. He was lonely, though Bilbo tried to keep him occupied and Frodo had a few friends that would visit on the occasion, and even Sam himself brightened Frodo’s days; but it wasn’t the same as having someone close and dear, someone you could not only tell you worries and share your discoveries with, but someone you could also kiss and touch, and lay with. Frodo craved that, more than he wanted to admit, even to himself, for his brief dalliance in Buckland had only hinted at what could be and had left him aching for that closeness all the more.  
  
But Sam? He cringed a little at the thought. Samwise was a child, hardly a tween, except that Bilbo and even the Gaffer occasionally remarked that Sam was mature for his years.  
  
“Yes, he’s quite good at gardening,” Frodo muttered to himself, “That doesn’t mean he’s old enough to…” Frodo broke off and realized with a little unpleasant jolt that Sam was the same age Frodo had been when he and his lad had coupled at the Brandy Hall woodshop.  
  
“Maybe I wasn’t old enough,” Frodo sighed, “I wasn’t old enough to understand the consequences.” He had learned that lesson well, at least. Frodo had been sent away and the boy, his name had been Pan, lost his job. Frodo hugged his knees, feeling the pain again, of knowing that he was responsible for uprooting and shaming his friend, and that there was nothing he could have done to stop it.  
  
What he and Pan shared had been the highlight and joy of his tween heart; though Frodo wouldn’t have called the two of them lovers, exactly, but neither had their coupling been without affection. It had begun one evening when a cousin came to the Hall complaining that his horse had thrown a shoe and Frodo had been sent to find someone who could see to the animal at the late hour. He had gone to the stables only to find them deserted and then had decided that horse shoes had something to do with nails, so he walked out to the Hall woodshop, set back away from the main cluster of smials because of the noise that the shop produced. There Frodo found the carpenter and his apprentice at work and after explaining his errand the carpenter had set off to find the horse. Frodo and the apprentice had been left alone.  
  
At first they only sat in silence until Frodo decided this was rude and began a halting conversation. He discovered the young hobbit’s name was Pan and he was from one of the farming families that worked Brandybuck land, and that he was a few years older than Frodo. Frodo goaded him into a tour of the workshop and Pan obliged, seeming a little bewildered at the young gentlehobbit’s interest. After nearly an hour of pleasant conversation, and admiring Pan’s woodcraft Frodo remembered feeling surprised that he had enjoyed this time far more than being stuck in the Hall, even more than being tucked up in his room with a book.  
  
Pan had asked him to follow him behind the woodshop where the wood stock was set to drying, where he promised to explain the differences in wood to Frodo, and Frodo followed, willing to stay as long as the apprentice wasn’t bothered by him. They went outside and Pan had turned to him and Frodo still remembered the thrill of pleasured shock as Pan took him by the shoulder and kissed him.  
  
It had been a gentle kiss but Frodo had given into it, had even kissed back so readily that Pan pressed him to the woodshed wall and pushed his tongue into Frodo’s mouth. Frodo remembered moaning and wanting more but the sound of the returning carpenter had split them apart and Frodo went back to the Hall that night with pulsing blood, feeling as if he were made of wind and starlight.  
  
He had made many more trips to the woodshop, most late at night when the carpenter had gone home. He and Pan would meet and go up to the loft and lay together until the stars began to fade in the sky.  
  
It only lasted a month. Seredic came into the woodshop one night and found them kissing; the only saving grace that it was not late enough for them to have progressed onto more compromising acts. Frodo was drug from the shed and he never saw Pan again.  
  
Unexpectedly Frodo felt his eyes go hot and his vision blurred. He clucked at himself and wiped his eyes. He was being silly, Pan had long forgotten him most likely and was living in a comfortable Buckland farming smial with a wife and children. They had been friends for a time, and Pan had always treated him with kindness, with respect, but what had been between the two of them was nothing compared to the friendship Frodo had with Sam. It was a friendship that had grown slowly over the course of years and had insinuated itself in their lives as solidly as the vines Sam’s father coaxed to cling to the garden bower.  
  
When Frodo had begun to visit Bag End he had found it a little strange that there was always a Gamgee about the place, and not ducking out of rooms and only speaking when spoken to, like the servants at Brandy Hall, but accepted and appreciated individuals in their own right. Bilbo chatted with Hamfast in the garden or at the breakfast table about flower plots and planting schedules, while Bell baked and stoked fire in Bag End’s kitchen and Daisy watched her two younger siblings, usually taking up in a chair near the garden with Sam in her lap and May on the ground by her feet. Sam couldn’t have been more than two or three at the time. Frodo had assumed, and he still thought that the reason there had been such involvement from the Gamgees then was that Bilbo had grown lonely and invited that noise and bustle to keep him company.  
  
That bustle had declined not long after Frodo had come to live at Bag End; the Gamgee children were a bit older and Daisy had taken up mending to help the household and was trusted to look after the others at home. Then Bell had fallen ill after the birth of Marigold and that had stopped the lively chatter on the Hill. Frodo and Bilbo watched helplessly as the goodwife of Number Three slipped away one spring night, and after that all the Gamgees seemed to have a quietness about them.  
  
That was when Bilbo had got very stubborn about Sam’s education. He insisted that Sam’s reading lessons be continued, increased even and Hamfast hadn’t the will to argue it, except to caution that Sam would be needed full time in the garden someday and the reading would come to an end then. Bilbo had blithely agreed to the terms and Frodo began to see more of Sam about Bag End. He mostly stayed out of Bilbo and Sam’s way; he didn’t want to interrupt the reading lessons and also Frodo could see that there was a very strong bond between the Master of the Hill and the youngest Gamgee son.  
  
It was also plain that Sam adored Bilbo. He adored his stories, his endless knowledge about the world and, though he was in awe of his master, Sam seemed comfortable and happy around Bilbo; probably a result of spending so much time in Bag End as a child and being treated with kindness and attention when he visited. Bilbo seemed to think Sam had a gift with poetry and verse, and had done all he could to encourage that gift. Frodo knew Sam’s presence brought Bilbo great joy, as well, for there was nothing his uncle liked better than an enthusiastic audience, and Sam was positively worshipful in his attention.  
  
“The old hobbit loves Sam and so he thinks I should love Sam,” Frodo mused, “And I do in a way. He’s nearly part of our family, I would say, but,” Frodo sighed, “that doesn’t mean I could take him as a lover.”  
  
The only problem to work out was how to go about convincing the two of them that this was a terrible irresponsible idea.  
  
“I won’t let Sam lose his position and standing for a bit of fun between us,” Frodo murmured to himself, though Frodo suspected that anything that happened between them would be deeper than a bit of fun, and that was perhaps a more frightening prospect.  
  
“Perspective,” Frodo said and rose, “I must find a way to reintroduce perspective to the whole matter. No one would accept it as proper for a gardener’s son to court his young master.” The statement caused a strange flash of pain in Frodo, for it felt wrong to put Sam down because of his class, but despite that Frodo knew it to be true. Perhaps sly pleasure-taking like the sort that he and Pan had taken would be overlooked if it were carried on discreetly, but Bilbo was envisioning a proper courtship in full view of the village.  
  
He gathered up his blanket and bag and set off again for home. It couldn’t be much past luncheon, he thought and hurried back through the forest.  
  
Frodo had the beginnings of a plan by the time he reached Bag End. He ate lunch with Bilbo and announced that he was going to help Sam in the garden that afternoon. Bilbo only greeted this with slightly raised eyebrows and Frodo offered him no further explanation.  
  
“Well, mind that you ask him. He’s planting today and that is fiddly work. He may not have you,” Bilbo cautioned. Frodo blinked, feeling a little indignation but nodded.  
  
“Of course I’ll ask,” he said, “I don’t mean to sound so imposing.”  
  
“Good,” Bilbo approved and began the washing up. Frodo made his way out into the garden and found Sam up to his elbows in soil, digging holes for his seeds. He looked up and seeing Frodo gave a wave.  
  
“Hello Sam, did you have lunch?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Yes sir. Just finished. Did you have a good walk this morning?” he asked. Frodo was unsurprised Sam knew of his walk.  
  
“Yes, it was a very pleasant,” Frodo said, “I was wondering if perhaps you would like some help this afternoon? I understand planting is a difficult business.” Sam’s smile faded a little and Frodo felt Sam gaze turn evaluative. “It’s quite alright if you think I’ll be a bother. In all fairness I probably would be.”  
  
“Nay sir,” Sam said and his voice had gone shy, “It’s not that, but begging your pardon, you aren’t dressed for it.”  
  
“That can be remedied,” Frodo said, feeling a little more confident.  
  
“Then, if you’re sure sir,” Sam said and Frodo felt a surge of victory. He needed a way to restore the balance between Sam and himself, and there was nothing better for that, he felt, than working side by side, as they had in the past. It would remind Sam that they were dear friends, and that was the way it was supposed to be.  
  
“I’ll join you in a moment then,” Frodo said and went off to change.

The planting was hard work but Frodo thought he held up his end as well as could be expected of someone who wasn’t a professional gardener. Sam watched him closely and it wasn’t with the lovelorn looks Frodo had half expected, but with a sharp eye and a polite reminder when Frodo lost track of what he was doing. This suited Frodo fine, it was the way it had always been between them; when Frodo toiled in Sam’s world Sam was there to guide their work, and when Sam ventured into the realm of literature, well, more often it was Bilbo guiding him, but Frodo had been known to help Sam in his reading efforts. Their words were polite, helpful and kind.  
  
As the afternoon drew to a close Frodo stood and stretched, proud of the hours of toil he had put into the garden and promised to fetch Sam a mug of ale for his cool down. Sam thanked him and headed for the pump, as was his custom. Frodo walked into the kitchen and finding it deserted went down into the cool cellar to draw two mugs. He brought the mugs out and decided he would feel much nicer in a clean shirt, so after a slight detour Frodo returned to the garden with the mugs in hand. Sam had finished washing and was seated on the brick bower near the pump, looking content with his freshly washed feet and arms. He turned and took one of the mugs appreciatively from Frodo as Frodo settled beside him in the bower and sipped his own ale.  
  
“Oh, this is fine stuff,” Sam commented as he drank thirstily. “Thank you sir.”  
  
“You’re more than welcome,” Frodo said, “Thank you for taking me on this afternoon.”  
  
“T’was a help,” Sam said with conviction and took a sip. He gazed down a moment in silence before saying quietly, “Why did you come help me today?” Frodo considered the question carefully.  
  
“I wanted to work with you, the way we have in the past,” he said slowly, “I can’t very well work this thing out if I’m never with you.” He realized this sounded more encouraging than he meant it to sound and sure enough when he looked Sam was watching him with hope in his face.  
  
“You really are thinking on it…?” he asked.  
  
“I said I would,” Frodo said a little defensively and looked away quickly. If he wasn’t careful those soft brown eyes would have him giving in to more than he wanted, “Sam, you know that whatever the answer I give, you are very dear to me. You and Bilbo are… well, you’re my family here, you know.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said softly and Frodo looked up to see Sam’s eyes going glossy in the sunset light. “That’s kind of you to say sir,” Sam went on quickly, “and you know, you and Mr. Bilbo are dear to me too.”  
  
“I know,” Frodo said and sipped speculatively. He felt soothed, and was sure now that he had reassured Sam that when the time came and he explained why the courtship wouldn’t work that-  
  
“Mr. Frodo?”  
  
“Yes?” Frodo asked and turned to see Sam peering at him bashfully again.  
  
“Will you go to the Green Dragon with me? Not tonight,” he added hastily, “Maybe tomorrow?” Frodo caught his breath.  
  
“Are you asking me to walk out with you?” he asked. Sam grinned and ducked his head.  
  
“Happen I am,” he said.  
  
“And you don’t think that’s cheeky, when I haven’t given you an answer?” Frodo asked, but Sam’s grin was infectious.  
  
“Aye. But then, you said yourself, how are you supposed to make a decision without spending some time with me and begging your pardon,” he paused and met Frodo’s eyes, “but working in the garden ain’t the most lovesome setting.” Frodo was struck speechless for a moment and stared. Sam finished his mug and put it in the bower next to him, turning his full attention to Frodo. “Will you?” he asked hesitantly.  
  
“Alright,” Frodo said and felt a little shocked at himself for saying it, but he had to admit Sam had a point, and besides, it would be a good opportunity to talk to Sam about the matter and lay it out plainly, away from Bilbo and Bag End, where the hard truths of life seemed blunted. Sam’s face lit with happiness.  
  
“Until then,” he said, grinning. He collected his mug, sent one last look of glowing happiness Frodo’s way and then disappeared into the garden, heading for Bag End’s kitchen. Frodo sat very still and stared after him.  
  
“Bugger,” he sighed. His plan had not worked the way he had wanted it to at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower notes:  
> Red tulip: Declaration  
> Iris (White and purple flower): Your friendship means so much to me; Hope


	3. Chapter 3

Later that evening, Frodo wandered into the study and sat near the hearth, staring at the stacked logs morosely. Across the room Bilbo was bent over his desk, inking a map. He had his magnifiers on, which meant he was not to be disturbed unless something was on fire. None the less he sat up and pulled his contraption off to look over at Frodo curiously.

“How are you?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’m not sure,” Frodo answered truthfully, “I think I’m in need of advice.”

“And you want my advice?” Bilbo asked in surprise. Frodo cast a rueful smile toward his guardian.

“I value your advice above all others, even if I don’t always agree with it,” he said. Bilbo snorted and drew himself up. He hobbled slowly over to the settle and eased himself down.

“Do we need tea or alcohol for this conversation?” he asked and Frodo chuckled.

“Alcohol probably,” he said and Bilbo leaned over to the little table where he kept brandy and cordials corked in crystal bottles and turned over two shot glasses. He uncorked a brandy bottle and poured out two small glasses and handed one to Frodo.

“Drink up,” Bilbo said indulgently, “So, I suppose we’re discussing Samwise, aren’t we?”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Frodo said quietly, “I couldn’t bear it actually. But I can’t see a way around it, no matter what I do; if I turn him away he’ll be hurt and if I let him court me then the entirety of Hobbiton will ridicule him.”

“Oh Frodo, let Sam worry about the rest of Hobbiton,” Bilbo said then seeing Frodo’s look revised his tone, “Well, first, you’d not be inviting all of Hobbiton to a viewing party of the two of you taking a cuddle,” Bilbo pushed on seeing Frodo open his mouth to object, “so it would all be hearsay and rumor. Second, and more importantly, Sam is far more like us than he is like the rest of Hobbiton. I’ve seen him defy convention time and again when he felt it was important, and despite that the boy is mostly looked on well in the village. He is kind and helpful and he’s a hard worker, and that tends to make hobbits favorably disposed to him and all the Gamgees for that matter, never mind that he associates with the eccentrics on the Hill.”

“Even if that’s so,” Frodo said sipping and glaring at his toes. “you can’t tell me that his father will be so easily appeased.”

“Leave Hamfast to me,” Bilbo said blithely and Frodo laughed.

“You think that you can charm anyone with that silver tongue of yours, don’t you?”

“It hasn’t failed me yet,” Bilbo said a little indignantly, “I did talk my way out of becoming dragon luncheon. I think Hamfast will offer slightly less of a challenge.” He paused and regarded Frodo carefully for a moment, sipping his drink. “Sam will be fine, no matter what answer you give him. You can’t tell me you don’t think the boy resilient. There’s no need for you to worry so on his behalf.”

“I feel responsible,” Frodo murmured and emptied his glass. Bilbo took it from him and refilled it. Frodo watched this unsettled; Bilbo usually didn’t let him drink more than a glass before supper.

“It won’t be like last time,” Bilbo said quietly as he passed the glass back. “Circumstances are very different.” Frodo sipped reflexively.

“It doesn’t feel different,” he said in a low voice.

“Frodo,” Bilbo said softly, “it isn’t stodgy Brandybucks in charge of your fate now my boy. This is your life. Don’t let them keep making your choices for you.” Frodo felt his face going very hot and he drank again and closed his eyes.

“I suppose since you’re the one encouraging all this you’d not disown me or send Sam away, but I’m still somehow afraid… if I’m truthful,” Frodo admitted.

“It’s not a small matter,” Bilbo said quietly, “Not with the two of you.”

“Why do you say that?” Frodo asked weakly, though he felt he might know the answer. Bilbo leaned back and gazed at the ceiling.

“The two of you are serious sorts. You don’t take on tasks halfheartedly and you don’t leave things undone. And there is a bond between you.”

“So you keep telling me,” Frodo mumbled.

“You think I’m wrong about that?” Bilbo asked. “Tell me lad, what do you feel for him? You said you love him…”

“I don’t know what I feel,” Frodo said and heard an edge of temper in his voice and mellowed his tone. It wasn’t Bilbo’s fault his feelings were in a tangle. “He’s very young and it feels strange to think of him in such a way. I can’t help but see him as a child.”

“But he’s not a child,” Bilbo said quietly.

“You called him a child last week,” Frodo protested and his uncle snorted.

“Anyone under fifty is a child to me,” he said and sighed, “Has he acted like a child this week?” Frodo had to pause at that.

“No,” he said, “and that’s been startling.”

“Has it been unpleasant?” Bilbo pressed and Frodo gazed at the far wall, feeling the brandy singing in his blood.

“Not all together,” he admitted and paused feeling his cheeks go hot at the recollection of Sam peering up at him from behind the window box, holding his white flowers up, and his eyes shining. “He can be surprisingly charming,” Frodo added quietly. Bilbo was silent and Frodo drank the rest of his cordial. His head was getting muddled now and saw the sense of getting something in his stomach to mellow the alcohol. “Are we going to have supper?” he asked. Bilbo moved and turned to look at him and gave a quick smile.

“Yes of course, lad,” he said, “Will you promise me you’ll try and rethink Samwise? Try and see him for who he is now, not whatever picture of him you made years ago?”

“Yes sir,” Frodo said quietly.

“You know, in your objections you never raised the idea that you didn’t find him appealing,” Bilbo added, with raised eyebrows. Frodo gaped at him, and after a long pause Bilbo stood and began making his way to the kitchen. “What do you feel like? We’ve left over pike that needs eating, and I can cook up some of those peppers and onions in the pantry.”

“That sounds fine,” Frodo said and stood with some difficulty. “Bilbo?” Bilbo turned back to him.

“Yes?”

“This courtship business is impossible. Certainly if we were to try and do it properly. Why, if it were to be a real courtship, then I would need Hamfast’s permission to accept Sam’s favors.” Bilbo blinked a little, looking surprised.

“Er, I don’t think that’s how it goes,” he said, “The one being courted just accepts the favor, it’s up to the one doing the courting to secure permissions…”

“I am not a lass,” Frodo said sharply, “And if Sam got permission it’s only fair that I would get permission too. And we would be doing this properly, wouldn’t we?” Bilbo paled a little and nodded.

“Yes, alright. You’re right,” he said.

“And I guarantee if I go down there and ask Ham if I can court his son he will politely turn me out of his hole.”

“Well, you haven’t my finesse,” Bilbo said absently, then peered closer at Frodo, “If I get Ham in a more agreeable mood about the whole thing, you’ll ask his permission to court Sam?” Frodo frowned. The conversation seemed to have gotten away from him.

“Erm."  
  
“So when shall I arrange to have this meeting with Master Gamgee?” Bilbo asked smoothly. Frodo sent him an irritated look.

“I was only speaking in theory. The whole thing is impossible as I told you,” Frodo said, finally pulling the conversation back.

“Frodo don’t dither. It doesn’t become you,” Bilbo scolded as he rooted in the pantry.

“And you shouldn’t push me into decisions when I’m drunk,” Frodo scolded back and pressed a hand to his stomach. Bilbo pulled his head out of the pantry and chuckled.

“Fair enough. Drunk? Really? It was only two brandies,” he clucked.

“On an empty stomach,” Frodo scowled and added, “and I had an ale with Sam before he left.” Bilbo frowned.

“You know better than to mix your alcohols. Ah well, let’s fix that empty stomach of yours then,” he said, hauling the vegetables out into the kitchen and went to the larder to retrieve the pike. Frodo sat at the breakfast table and frowned at the wood grain. As Bilbo returned Frodo looked up and peered at his uncle, squinting as he tried to steady his head. Bilbo caught sight of his look and paused.

“What?” he asked, setting the wrapped fish on the counter.

“Just why are you so keen on seeing me matched with Sam, eh?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Bilbo said indignantly, “I’ve told you, he’s a good boy and I think he would make you happy. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Choosing Sam upsets thing,” Frodo said in a low suspicious voice.

“I like upsetting things,” Bilbo countered.

“Not when it comes to trifling with your gardener’s family,” Frodo persisted, “It’s a terrible risk, even for you.” Bilbo huffed and banged pans. “Bilbo…” Frodo growled.

“I didn’t want you getting involved with riffraff,” Bilbo snapped.

“Riffraff!” Frodo gasped.

“Yes,” Bilbo said in reasonable tones, “You run about with those Brandybucks and Tooks long enough well, it would have been only a matter of time before one of them seduced you.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“They’re all tricky fellows, especially those Tooks. Spend enough time with them and I have little doubt they’ll try to trip you into bed. And I wouldn’t begrudge you a good lay, but those lads are all rather empty headed, you know. And there is no use giving your heart to some flighty Took.”

“ _You're_ going to disparage someone for being a flighty Took?” Frodo observed, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Bilbo.

“Sam is a good, solid, reliable lad,” Bilbo said primly.

“You make him sound like an old pony,” Frodo said dryly.

“Don’t be silly,” Bilbo huffed, “Come chop the onions.” Frodo rose and went to the counter, finding a knife. “If you don’t mind me saying, lad, you have a certain amount of flightiness about you too. Maybe it’s not the sort that makes you take off for the Wild, but you don’t exactly abide by convention either.”

“We’d not be having this conversation if it were otherwise,” Frodo sighed.

“True,” Bilbo nodded, “Which is why it seems rather fitting for you to keep Samwise close.”

“So he can reign in my flighty tendencies?” Frodo asked.

“Not exactly,” Bilbo shook his head, “Rather, I think he would be right there alongside you, no matter what trouble you get up to. He would steady you and look after you, rather than draw you deeper into trouble.”

“You know, most hobbits would think it absolutely mad to call Brandybucks and Tooks riffraff and hold the Gamgee family up as a paragon.”

“Yes and its silly society hobbits that think that way. Don’t tell me you’re becoming a snob like them.”

“Hardly,” Frodo paused, looking down at the onions, “Bilbo?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think I should chop onions when I’m…”

“Oh very well,” Bilbo sighed and took the knife from him.

♦

  
Sam woke early and stretched lazily under the covers. It was Highday and he had the day off. He went over in his mind the chores and tasks that he had set for himself to be done in the next two days. But ahead of them all, he felt, must be to convince Frodo that he was in earnest about the courtship and that it would be a good thing for them both. He had hardly convinced himself of that, but never the less Sam assumed that if he put his effort into something it would turn out as best as could be hoped for.

First however, he would have to evade Daisy, who would have chores for him. He wasn’t cheeky enough to slip away from her very often anymore, so he felt that he earned it when he did. Anyway, Frodo was more important than stacking firewood.

Sam let his thoughts linger on Frodo for a long delicious moment, as he wondered what it would be like to kiss him, or go for a bit of necking behind the hill. He guiltily pushed the thought away, even as it left a pleasant tingling sensation behind. It wasn’t right to think on Frodo that way, he told himself. Not when Frodo hadn’t given his answer yet.  
  
But his escape up to the Hill wasn’t to be. Sam tried to slink out but Daisy was up and stirring the fire, ready with a list for him. Sam listened with growing frustration, realizing that the errands, the mending, the washing, the chopping, and the shifting would take him all day. It was possible he could slip off but Daisy had a nasty habit of knowing when he wanted to escape and she was in a particularly bad temper this morning. With a sigh, Sam took the ax and went outside.

It was four o’clock before he slipped away. To manage that he had to give May a copper penny in exchange for distracting their sister. Sam bolted up the hill arriving in front of Bag End before he knew it, with no idea of what he was going to do or say. He had half thought to find another bunch of flowers but reconsidered. The irises from yesterday were still fresh and he didn't want to overdo it. He paused a moment, then decided he would only knock and present himself and see what Frodo would do. Surely he could convince Frodo to take tea with him, or maybe a walk. He smiled cheered at the thought and knocked boldly on the door.

He waited for a long moment. There was no answer. Frowning Sam stepped back and walked out to the lane, glancing up to see if the chimneys were smoking. Even in summer Bilbo kept the kitchen fire going unless it was a sweltering day. The old hobbit didn’t like to feel chill at all, and claimed that he caught colds at a much higher rate since the one he had years ago in Dale after getting dunked in the River Running. The chimney emitted a thin stream of smoke. Sam frowned again and was about to retreat when the door opened and Bilbo peered out at him from inside the hole.

“Hullo Sam,” he said. Sam touched his cap and nodded politely.

“Good afternoon Mr. Bilbo,” he said, “is Mr. Frodo home?”

“No, he went out to Bywater. Had a meeting with old fusspot.” Old fuss pot Mindo was the barber and part time dentist of Bywater. Sam’s eyes widened.

“Is he getting a hair trim?” he asked. Bilbo shrugged.

“He might while he’s there, but he went to do the old boy’s books.”

“Oh,” Sam said, a little downcast. Bilbo blinked at him.

“Would you like tea? I was just about to make something,” he said.

“I don’t want to bother you sir,” Sam said.

“It’s no bother Samwise,” Bilbo scolded and stepped back opening the door wider, “Come along, you can tell me how things are going with Frodo.” Sam gulped and mounted the steps, slipping into the cool darkness of the hole. He did feel nervous about the evening to come and welcomed Bilbo’s advice.

The two sat down to cucumber sandwiches, tea, and biscuits and munched away happily discussing the garden, the village, and Sam’s most recently finished book. When the conversation lulled Bilbo poured them both a fresh cup of tea and peered over his cup at Sam.

“Alright, so then, how are you coming along with the boy?” he asked. Sam sighed and gazed into his tea.

“I asked him to walk out with me tonight,” he said. Bilbo blinked and sat up.

“Oh? And he agreed? Well done,” he said. Sam hung his head.

“He’s not liking all this, sir,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“He’s said as much hasn’t he?” Sam asked stubbornly, “and with me he’s so careful. He’s only not saying me nay to keep from hurting my feelings, I know it.” Bilbo was silent for a long moment, then shrugged.

“Frodo doesn’t know what he wants,” he said. Sam looked at him astounded and Bilbo gave him a sharp look, “don’t look like that. Most hobbits don’t know what they want. They settle into what’s expected and assume that’s what they want. Frodo doesn’t make that assumption, but that doesn’t mean he knows any better what he wants or what’s good for him.”

“And we do, sir?” Sam said boldly. Bilbo snorted.

“Of course we do. I have the experience to show me, and you, well, you want the boy looked after, cared for, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Sam said in a quiet voice.

“Yes,” Bilbo sighed and went on thoughtfully, “He seems quite strong doesn’t he? I like to think it has something to do with the home I’ve given him here, but in truth he would be the hobbit he is with or without me. He’s a remarkable boy.” Bilbo trailed off and added in a quiet voice, “I would like it very much if he always has someone about who cares for him.” Sam wanted to assure him that he always would, but he felt too shy to say it out like that.

“Mr. Bilbo?” Sam asked.

“Yes lad?”

“When I take him out tonight,” he paused and sighed, “I’m not sure what I’ll do. I can't think of anything I can say to bring him round to our way of seeing this."

 

“I shouldn’t think you would need to make speeches. No, you won't convince him of anything that way," Bilbo said.  
  
"Then it's hopeless?"  
  
"Of course not, Samwise," Bilbo scolded. He softened his tone at Sam's exasperated look and added, "The more you try and convince Frodo of something the more he will resist you. You know that." Sam nodded. "So, leave it be. I think you will be able to find other ways to his heart." Sam dropped his eyes his frown deepening.   
  
"Other ways?"  
  
"That's for you to work out, lad," Bilbo said. Sam sighed.  
  
"Don't look so down. The boy finds you quite charming, if I’m not mistaken," Bilbo paused, "I suppose you must try flirting a bit when the occasion seems right.” Sam covered his face and sighed.

“I’m no good a flirting,” he said.

“Well give it a go before you admit defeat,” Bilbo chided him. “Hm, let’s see. Compliments go down well, especially when you’re speaking in earnest.” He glanced at Sam, “That’s not usually a problem for you, is it? And surely you can come up with some pretty words about how you feel towards him? Some sweetness that he might sigh over later?”

“I suppose I can try, sir,” Sam agreed carefully.

“And ask him for a kiss,” Bilbo said, “that way he can’t pretend the pair of you are just going out for a night of food and ale.” Sam knew he was blushing and stayed silent but Bilbo read his silence and raised his eyebrows, “Yes, you can ask him for a kiss. I give you permission, and he’s agreed to consider this courtship so he’s at least given you permission to ask. Anyway, you tend not to get kisses until you ask.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said quietly, “You know, he told me the other day he thinks he’s a bother to the hobbits around here, that he don’t fit in with them. I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell him that ain’t so.”

“Really?” Bilbo cocked his head, silent for a long moment, “Well, I suppose you can start there. Don’t count on convincing him otherwise, mind, but he may appreciate your thoughts on the matter.”

“And I thought,” Sam gulped and looked down shyly, “I thought I might rent a cart and drive us home.” Bilbo glanced at him, looking impressed.

“Wonderful idea,” he said and stood quickly digging in his pockets, “here, I’ve got a silver piece you can have.”

“No, that’s alright Mr. Bilbo,” Sam said smiling, “I’ve enough for it. Don’t be worrying yourself.” Bilbo looked a little sheepish and sat down.

“Of course. You’re right,” he said, “but listen Sam, I’m always willing to spare a coin or two to this endeavor. A lad needs a rather heavy purse for courting these days.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’ve some saved up. You’ve been paying me well for the little chores I do around Bag End.”

“Hm,” Bilbo murmured not looking convinced.

Sam left Bag End after five. Frodo would be returning soon and Sam wanted to get home and scrub himself down. He had been planning on going to town to rent the cart but Bilbo had insisted on sending one of the Twofoot boys to make the arrangements. Sam let him, recognizing that Bilbo wanted to feel as if he were helping and knew too that it would be silly to rush to town only to rush back. Besides, this way he had plenty of time to wash up.

Whistling he heated a bucket of water on the woodstove at Number Three. Luckily the girls had gone off somewhere and his dad was dozing in his chair. He had stared sleepily at his son as Sam stripped his shirt off and began washing in the kitchen.

“Going somewhere, lad?” he had asked.

“To town with Mr. Frodo,” he said happily. His father grunted and closed his eyes.

“Mind your manners,” he grumbled.

“I will, sir,” Sam promised.

♦

  
It was early evening by the time Sam made his way back up the hill. He watched the sun sinking as he climbed up the winding path and knocked at the Baggins’ door. He was greeted by Frodo, who fixed him with solemn eyes.

“Well, shall we?” Frodo asked him and stepped out the door, closing it behind him. Sam bit his lip and tried not to sigh. Frodo seemed in a mood to control the situation and curtly walked down the hill, his steps purposeful as Sam followed behind.

“Can I take your arm, sir?” Sam asked. Frodo sent a cool look his way.

“I’m playing this little game but let’s not be ridiculous tonight,” he said wearily. Sam drew back, blinking and stung from the words.

“Yes, sir,” he said softly. Despite his quiet words Sam was annoyed. Frodo had agreed to thinking on the courtship hadn’t he? He didn’t have a right to be so hurtful then, Sam thought. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry. After so many years of watching his friend he knew when Frodo was putting up a front and he knew that under all that coolness and stone was a deep well of sweetness. All is fair in love, he thought, and so he set himself to disarming his master of his cool strength.  
  
They made the journey to town mostly in silence until they reached the main market road and Frodo paused.

“I wonder, would you object if we went to the grocer’s for a moment before the Dragon?” Frodo asked as they neared town, “Bilbo complained this afternoon of being out of that foul dark pipe weed he likes.” So they went to the grocer’s stall and Frodo filled a little bag full of the pungent weed, setting it carefully into the grocer’s scales. Mr. Greenroot, who ran a traveling stall came to the counter and wrote down the scale’s measurements, smiling and greeting Frodo as he did. Sam hung back in the shadows and watched the grocer, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. Carefully he eased forward to stand at Frodo’s side.

“Good evening Mr. Greenroot,” Sam said politely. The grocer nodded to him.

“Hullo Samwise. Didn’t see you there. How is your da?” he asked.

“Very well sir. And how is your wife?”

“Oh fair to middlin,” the grocer said, “You know Petunia. She do get het up of a day. Mind, it’s never anything too serious,” he added quickly, “but we’re having a bit of an argument to-day so you’ll not see her about the stall.” He laughed, “Like as not she a forgotten by the time I get home tonight. I’m hoping so anyways.”

“Is that so, sir?” Sam said, “Well like as not as you say. Mrs. Greenroot is fair natured.”

“That she is,” the grocer agreed. There was a brief silence as Sam worked on his plan. He glanced at Frodo, who was tamping down his little bag and pulling the drawstring closed before passing it to the grocer. Now or never, Sam thought grimly and forced himself to step up to the counter.

“It’s funny though, sir,” Sam said, setting his arms on the counter, “for you see, me and Mr. Frodo are having a bit of an argument today too.” Beside him he saw Frodo stiffen in alarm, but he didn’t look at him. If he did he thought he probably wouldn’t be able to go through with this. The grocer paused and stared at them, then laughed uncertainly.

“The pair of you, a arguing?” he asked shaking his head and looked at Frodo, “Beg your pardon, but I’d have never believed it.”

“Sam,” Frodo said in an unhappy voice, but Sam made himself ignore the plaintive tone.

“It’s just Mr. Frodo told me he thinks the folks of this Farthing don’t think much of him. Even after all the time he’s lived here. And won’t believe me when I tell him that ain’t so.” The grocer frowned and looked at Frodo, who had fallen silent.

“You’d not be thinking that surely, Mr. Frodo,” the grocer said, sounding very put out. Frodo straightened and for the first time Sam let himself look at the gentlehobbit.

“I was speaking in terms of my use to the Farthing,” Frodo said, “my use from my actions, you understand, not from being Bilbo’s heir.”

“Even so, Mr. Frodo,” the grocer said shaking his head, “Why you’re the one got the Bucklanders to let our farmers send their lads to learn the grape trade, and you in particular set up that trip I took into Buckland to sell my weed to the Brandybucks last year.” Frodo stayed quiet. “Sir,” the grocer’s voice softened, “you must have been listening to that Sackville relation of Mr. Bilbo’s to be thinking such. Why, there might be a few in the Farthing that don’t know the worth of the Bagginses but most folk know exactly who it is looks out for them. And Mr. Bilbo, well begging his pardon, but he’s not the most focused of hobbits. Since you come sir, why, Mr. Bilbo’s been twice the Master he once was and we all know that’s on account of having you by his side.” Frodo’s gaze was fixed firmly on the counter top but he nodded.

“Thank you, sir,” he said quietly, “you don’t know what that means to hear you say that.”

“Bless you Mr. Frodo,” the grocer said, “you listen to your Sam. He may not know much but he can see your worth, and isn’t too shy to tell you so.” He nodded approvingly at Sam. Frodo’s cheeks pinked up but he lifted his chin and smiled.

“You’re very kind, sir,” he said, “and I will try to take your advice.” He turned and shot a penetrating look at Sam, one that looked both as if her were amused and irritated. Sam shifted and little uncomfortably as Frodo turned back and paid the grocer.  
As they walked into the quiet lane Sam began to wonder if it had been wise to tease Frodo that way.

“I suppose you’re pleased with yourself,” Frodo said stiffly.

“I didn’t aim on embarrassing you,” Sam said quietly, “I wanted you to see that we all think well of you.”

“When did I ever say that I thought I was ill-liked?” Frodo snapped.

“When we were picking strawberries,” Sam said, “You said you wanted to have a place among us where you would do good. And I told you, you already do, and you said that no, we all thought you a nuisance.”

“You mustn’t listen to everything I say,” Frodo sighed.

“I can’t help it,” Sam said, “and well, I think maybe everything Mr. Greenroot said was sommat you needed to hear. So I’m not sorry.” Silence stretched between them. Frodo sighed.

“Lucky for you he said nice things about me,” he said grudgingly.

“Luck weren’t nothing to do with it. I know the grocer knows your quality. I knew he’d have kind words for you.”

“As if he’d have any other with me standing right there,” Frodo chuckled. He looked over at Sam, rueful and apologetic. “You’re so very stubborn. You wear me down in the end.” Sam put his hands in his pockets and shot a shy look at Frodo. Frodo’s smile faded and he glanced away. Sam took a breath and said quickly,

“At least, think on his advice. I don’t claim to know much, but I know the people of this Farthing and I like to think I know you.” Frodo frowned and refused to look at him. They could both sense the direction of the conversation and neither was eager to follow it on.

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said stiffly, “I shouldn’t be upset at you. You were only trying to be kind to me. The way you always are.” He let out a long sigh, “Besides, we’re supposed to be enjoying our evening out, aren’t we? And I’ve been doing all I can to muddle it before we even get started. Let me buy you dinner as an apology.” Sam had been planning on buying Frodo’s dinner as a part of his wooing effort but casting a look at Frodo’s face he decided it would be wise to not fight him on this too.

“Thank you sir,” he said, “That’s mighty nice of you.”  
  
The dinner passed quickly, and unfortunately to Sam’s mind with very little said between them. Despite his best efforts Frodo remained distant and cool, replying with only very short polite answers, smiling slightly, before sinking into silence once more. Sam took his drink, a thin stemmed wine glass and stared into it. He didn’t usually drink wine, a fact that Frodo seemed to have forgotten.  
  
Neither seemed eager to linger in the pub after dinner. There was no one skittling tonight and no music because the maid who usually came to play her flute had twisted her ankle. The mood in the pub was therefore subdued. Though the quiet meant they could hear one another easily the quiet also made it all the more awkward when they found they had nothing to say. Sam thought he might try some small wooing effort, but he lost his nerve with so many other hobbits milling about and no music to cover the sound of their conversation.

It was a relief when the dinner was over. Frodo went to the front and paid as Sam slowly rose from the table. This evening hadn’t gone well at all and so he was now betting everything on his last ploy.  
He stepped out close to Frodo’s side and followed him silently from the pub into the waiting darkness of the night. His eyes scanned the lane and landed on the pony cart parked close to the oak tree next to the Dragon and Sam relaxed. Frodo followed his gaze and saw the cart as well, but his eyes only lingered on the pony who was tied loosely to the tree, munching on the grass at its base.

“Shall we have a smoke before we head back?” Frodo asked stepping over to pet the pony, who ignored him. Sam turned to him and shook his head.

“Actually sir, I thought we might ride back,” he said and motioned to the cart, “I rented out this cart tonight.” Frodo blinked at him and turned again to look at the cart. To Sam’s surprise, Frodo smiled.  
  
"That was thoughtful of you," he said.  
  
"I like night driving. Tis peaceful," Sam murmured.  
  
"So it is."  
  
He let Sam help him up onto the bench and Sam climbed up beside him, taking the reins. The pony grudgingly abandoned the patch of grass and trotted into the lane. Frodo took out his pipe and tamped down a bit of weed from his pouch, lighting it carefully as the cart bounced. Sam smelled the familiar rich South Farthing pipe weed waft over the both of them and relaxed. The silence between them had slowly warmed into the comfortable mood between them that Sam was accustomed to. Maybe it was being off by themselves, maybe it was having a full belly and a glass of wine, maybe it was the pipe smoke or the warm moonlit summer night; whatever it was Sam was deeply relieved.

“Would you like some?” Frodo asked him quietly. Sam turned to see Frodo holding out his pipe, “I’ll take the reins,” he offered and took them from Sam’s hands as Sam took the pipe. He took note of it, for it wasn’t a young hobbit’s pipe, but the type that older gentlehobbits smoked from, with burnished wood and tarnished metal fittings. Sam carefully took a draw on the pipe, breathing in the calming rich fumes, holding them in his lungs for a long moment before releasing the smoke into the night air once more. He savored the taste of the fine weed and was about to pass the pipe back when he caught Frodo watching him with a fond expression.

“You can have more than one draw,” he said kindly. Sam took another puff, feeling the peace of their ride, washing over him.

“Turn left up here, if you don’t mind, sir,” Sam said, “I thought we’d take the back road.” Frodo raised his eye brows, but did as he was asked.

“The back road?” he inquired.

“There’s that nice overlook at the top of the ridge where you can look down on Hobbiton,” Sam told him. Frodo chuckled.

“Bold lad,” he said. Sam took one last draw on the pipe and handed it back, taking the reins once more. They climbed the hillside slowly until at last the road leveled out and they came to a flat field. Sam guided the pony off the road and turned the cart to face southeast to give them a view of the twinkling lights of Hobbiton below. The dark hills stretched beyond the town, meeting the star filled sky in the far distance. Frodo sighed.

“You know some nice spots, I must say,” he said, “Do you often take your lasses here?” Sam bit back an indignant response, but couldn’t stop himself entirely.

“No sir. I’ve only come here myself.”

“Oh you can’t fool me,” Frodo laughed. Sam gazed down.

“The truth is, I’m not that good at courting. I’m sure you’ve seen that,” he sighed, “Mostly I make a mess of things. This is a spot I come when I want to think,” he paused, “… or dream.” Silence stretched between them for a long moment.

“I think,” Frodo said at last, “that it is a very nice spot to think or dream.”

“It’s not Bag End’s roof, but its fine enough for me,” Sam agreed.

“And what,” Frodo said slowly, “do you come here to think about?”

“Oh,” Sam murmured, startled that the conversation had taken this personal turn, “sometimes it’s just to think on nonsense. The tales I hear or maybe the songs I make up. Sometimes I think about the places that Mr. Bilbo tells me about. Sometimes I think about how my life will go.”

“And how do you see your life going?” Frodo asked softly.

“I can’t say, Mr. Frodo. I’ve always thought it would go much the same as it has,” Sam said. Frodo nodded, still not looking at him.

“You must believe you will take a wife,” he said.

“I suppose I thought I would,” Sam said hesitantly, not liking the direction Frodo was steering the conversation. “And you sir? Do you think you’ll take a wife?” Frodo frowned and his gaze darted to Sam’s face for a moment.

“No,” he said slowly, “No. Not if I’m honest.” Sam bowed his head, glad Frodo hadn’t given him the blithe expected answer of ‘just waiting for the right lass,’ which most hobbits got when they questioned to younger Baggins. Frodo sighed, “You mustn’t copy me in this,” he said, “it’s one thing for an eccentric on the hill to be a funny old bachelor. But it would make everyone quite sad for you to give up married life. And I think it would make you quite sad as well.”

“Not if I were loved and able to love,” Sam said stubbornly. He heard Frodo’s teeth click and felt him tense. There was a long silence between them.

“You’re asking,” Frodo said quietly, “that we consider the vice that dare not speak its name.” Sam paused at that, watching the distant hills and above the stars burning high above them.

“I would speak its name,” he said quietly.

“Sam,” Frodo sighed unhappily.

“I would. For you,” Sam said with conviction, “You believe me, don’t you?”

“I have never known you lie,” Frodo said. _Ah ha,_ Sam thought, _that’s why this is so hard on you, if you could believe this was a whim of mine it would be so much easier to say me nay._ The thought only made him love Frodo more, knowing that he thought Sam's feelings were worth agonizing over. So many others would have simply slapped him and told him to stop being stupid. “Is this about curiosity?” Frodo asked him quietly, “I know how curious you are.”

“I don’t follow you,” Sam said frowning. Frodo closed his eyes.

“Are you curious about being intimate with another lad?”

“I’m curious about it with you,” Sam murmured. He couldn’t believe he had said such a thing and Frodo stared at him, looking as if he were equally shocked. Then he looked away quickly.

“If you want, I’ll kiss you,” Frodo said quietly, “and we needn’t speak on it again.”

“But I want to speak on it,” Sam said sadly. Frodo frowned and closed his eyes again.

“If it’s more than a kiss you want, then,” he broke off unable to finish the sentence.

“Oh Frodo,” Sam murmured, torn by Frodo’s anguish.

“What do you want?” Frodo asked him tightly.

“I want to court you,” Sam said.

“Court me?” Frodo asked in disbelief, opening his eyes again to stare at Sam. “How in the Shire can you mean that? You want to give me flowers and go walking out and read me poetry?” he laughed dryly, “This is the worst kind of madness.”

“I want to show you how I feel,” Sam said feeling a stab of misery. Instantly Frodo’s expression changed to one of contrite sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I seem determined to put you down at every turn tonight.” He reached for Sam’s hand and held it between his warm palms, interlacing their fingers. “Forgive me. You’re feelings aren’t something I should make fun of.”

“Don’t you understand them at all?” Sam asked in a low voice. The question hung in the night air for a long moment until Sam began to feel he wouldn’t get an answer.

“I think I understand a little of what you feel,” Frodo said finally.

“Do you understand how a lad might feel for another lad?” Sam asked, pushing a little more. Frodo’s mouth tightened.

“If I did, it was a very long time ago,” he said without hesitation. Sam felt like going on, but he could see Frodo’s discomfort on the subject.

“Then maybe you can see some of what you mean to me. When it’s you that is so wise and kind. I can’t help it, seeing all the goodness you bring to everyone around you. Especially to Mr. Bilbo.” Frodo had gone still but Sam pushed on, “How could I do anything but look up to you, when you take me out on walks and tell me jokes so funny that I can’t breathe for laughing, and then at night show me the stars and maps of distant places, and tell me their queer names and the stories behind them, so that they fill my head with something so much bigger than me that I feel no bigger than an ant. There’s magic in you.”

“It’s hardly magic,” Frodo murmured.

“It seems that way to a boy who by all rights you should have been ignoring and taking others along with you, those who were born better.”

“Sam,” Frodo breathed and tightened his grip on Sam’s hand, "I like sharing things with you." Sam looked up into Frodo’s eyes, which were no longer clouded by tension, but looked earnest. He moved his other hand to Frodo’s and brought his hand up to kiss it. Frodo let him. “Besides,” Frodo went on quietly, “No one else laughs at my jokes or thinks that my stories are magic.”

“Then they’ve no sense,” Sam said in a low rumble and felt Frodo shiver. He looked up in surprise but Frodo wasn’t looking at him, but down on the lights of the town. Sam continued slowly, “Your stories are so strong, I feel them for days after,” he breathed, “like they’ve burned me.”

“I can’t take credit for the stories, they’re written by master story-tellers and translated by Bilbo, who is a master in his own right. All I ever did was read them out to you.”

“But you took the time to read them out to me,” Sam countered. “You cared enough about sharing those stories in particular with a boy who you had no reason to think would be taken by them.” Sam closed his eyes, “sir, it never was the stories or the songs or the stars that made what I feel. It was always you.” He watched Frodo close his eyes an expression of pain in his face and wondered at it. “You’re the best hobbit I have ever known,” Sam murmured. He couldn’t bear to look and see if that look of pain had melted at his words so he blushed and looked down. But even as he did, he felt Frodo move closer, and set a hand on his shoulder before leaning close and brushing a kiss onto his downward turned forehead. Sam closed his eyes, savoring it, even as Frodo moved back to put distance between them once more.

“I would never want to stop there being love between us,” Frodo said in a whisper, “I couldn’t bear that.” Sam turned and once more, took Frodo’s hand in his own. Frodo was gazing at him, as if trying to find something in his eyes. “But I have a responsibility to you,” Frodo went on quietly, “and part of that responsibility is that I protect you from hurt and folly. And how could I do anything else when I care for you so?”

“That depends on what you think is folly, sir,” Sam said, daringly. Frodo frowned at him.

“I hope you trust me,” he said seriously, though his voice was still warm.

“I do,” Sam said in a small voice. He did trust Frodo, but the truth was that he didn’t always think Frodo had the right way of things, yet he couldn’t bear to tell him that. Frodo watched him silently for a long moment, and Sam almost squirmed under the attention. He wasn’t used to Frodo paying so much attention to him.

“You’re very sweet natured you know,” Frodo said at last. “And quite charming. You mustn’t think that you aren’t.”

“But you still don’t think I ought to be setting my cap on you,” Sam said quietly. Frodo looked away at that, embarrassed.

“I can hardly think you mean it,” he said, “I know you believe in this moment that you do, but in a month from now? Will this still seem such a good idea?”

“I can’t see what a month would do,” Sam murmured frowning.

“Well,” Frodo relented sighing.

“Well, I’ve got a week to try and convince you, hadn’t I?” Sam asked. Frodo glanced back at him, looking tired.

“I suppose,” he said.

They made their way back quietly on the back road, the only sound the pony’s hooves on the dusty lane. Sam drove up the Hill and stopped at Bag End’s front gate. He climbed down and helped Frodo down from the tall cart. Frodo thanked him and wished uhim goodnight, turning away. Sam paused.

“Sir?” he called softly and Frodo turned back.

“Yes?” he asked and Sam stepped close once more.

“You said you might kiss me,” Sam said quietly, “if I were curious about it.” Frodo blinked, looking amazed for a moment, then cocked his head, peering hard at Sam.

“That was if a kiss would satisfy you. It seems that it won’t.”

“But you did offer,” Sam protested.

“I was trying to find out your intentions.”

“I’m fair sure I’d made my intensions clear. And it would satisfy me. For tonight,” Sam added cheekily. Frodo sighed. If he was reading him right he wasn’t getting a cold refusal from Frodo, but was being considered carefully. When Frodo didn’t answer for a long moment Sam knew he was right.

“You’re that set on getting a kiss?” Frodo asked and it was grudging rueful amusement in his voice. Sam smiled softly and met his eyes. Frodo’s tone was the same one he used at the pub when Sam pleaded for a round of skittling even though he knew they would lose and Frodo grudgingly went along to please him.

“I am,” Sam said. Frodo sighed.

“We'll play at kissing then,” he said, “But I don’t want to hear about this around the market,” he added sternly and Sam nodded, eyes solemn. Frodo stepped closer and frowned slightly, saying, “And this doesn’t mean yes to the courting business either, understand?”

“Yes sir,” Sam murmured. Frodo watched him for a moment more then gave a slight nod, stepping forward. Sam sucked in a nervous breath of air. Frodo gently took hold of his shoulders and leaned in, carefully touching his lips to Sam’s. Sam’s breath froze in that instant of contact between them, and then Frodo pulled back, putting a respectful distance between them once more.

“Goodnight Samwise,” Frodo said firmly. Sam blinked at him in the moonlight, then grinned.

“Goodnight, Mr. Frodo,” he said.

♦

  
Frodo went up the steps wearily and slipped into Bag End. He was glad to see that Bilbo had not waited up for him and the hole was dark. He hadn’t wanted to face knowing smiles and questions from his guardian. Taking a lamp he went down to his own room and closed the door softly behind him. To his surprise he was worn out. Probably from all the mental calculation he had been doing, trying neither to be cruel nor leading, especially given his tendency to indulge Sam. It was a damn fine line, as he had found out. Changing quickly he fell into bed and slept.

The dream he had that night started off fuzzy, with Frodo dimly aware that he was in the woods, walking through shadowy meadows, lit with starlight and mist that rose and glowed in the air. He began to vaguely recognize the woods as those around Brandy Hall where he had often walked and read on long afternoons by himself. But he wasn’t by himself.

Sam walked beside him, silent, intent on following Frodo through the wood. They had been trying to find something, Frodo thought, and struggled to remember why they were in the wood. Bilbo had sent them for something, but that was all that he could recall. He felt a touch at his shoulder and turned to see Sam looking at him questioningly.

“It’s to the east,” he said quietly.

“What is?” Frodo asked helplessly and Sam gave him a curious fond smile.

“The Arkenstone,” Sam said. Frodo pondered this as Sam waited patiently.

“It’s in the east?” Frodo asked, still feeling a little lost.

“Aye. At the Hardpole folly. Don’t you know it?” he asked, with surprise in his voice.

“Of course I do. I used to go there and read all the time,” Frodo said impatiently. Why did Sam know so much about Buckland anyway? The Hardpole folly was an ornate stone building built deep in the wood by the Master of Buckland five generations ago, to be a decoration of his estate, but the woods had swallowed it up.

“Will you take me to see it? Please Frodo?” Sam asked and his voice was so wistful and earnest that Frodo felt his heart melt.

“Of course I will,” he said and Sam’s eyes lit in joy when Frodo slid his hand into Sam’s. “Come on then.” He led Sam through the woods and turned at the overgrown road. The folly was just ahead, and even though the mists and darkness swirled around them Frodo led them truly, for he knew these woods so well there was no chance of losing his way.

The folly rose before them, a round imposing tower, and at the top Frodo spied a shining jewel, that cast a warm light down onto their faces. He glanced at Sam and saw his friend gazing up at it in wonder.

“Is this adventure enough for you?” Frodo asked him, smiling. Sam turned to him, his eyes catching the bright light from above. He raised his hand and his fingertips lit warm on Frodo’s cheek. Frodo went very still, caught in a spell of surprise and sudden arousal.

“It shone like silver in the firelight,” Sam murmured, and stepped closer, so close Frodo could feel the warmth from his body, “like water in the sun,” he breathed into Frodo’s ear and Frodo sighed in pleasure, slipping and arm around Sam’s back, “like snow under the stars,” he turned his head and brushed his nose against Frodo’s cheek, his hands coming up to slide gently from Frodo’s neck to his shoulders. Frodo laughed softly, suddenly filled with joy, as he had just solved a riddle.

“Like rain upon the moon,” he said and Sam drew back to smile at him, his eyes crinkling in mirth. Frodo laughed again and pressed Sam backward until his back was braced by the tower wall. He leaned close to Sam, holding his gaze, which had turned shy. He smoothed Sam’s hair back, gentling him, but the throbbing heat between his legs was growing insistent.

“Frodo,” Sam murmured dreamily. Frodo set his forehead against Sam’s and heard Sam groan softly in pleasure as their bodies pressed flush.

“You’ve found the heart of the mountain,” Frodo groaned lifting his chin and leaned in, kissing Sam, hard. He felt a little guilty about how insistent he was being, at how he had Sam pinned, but Sam was letting out needy whimpers that did nothing to make Frodo want to stop. They finally drew back, catching a breath.

“This feels wonderful,” Sam gasped. Frodo smiled at him and licked his top lip.

“There is more I can show you,” he said, “If you would want to do such things with me?”

“Ah,” Sam cried and gave a little shiver, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I work in a woodshop,” Frodo said quietly and Sam went still, his brow knitting.

“That don't matter none,” Sam said and his expression grew very serious, a deep yearning coming into his eyes that took Frodo breath, “don’t you know you’ve got my heart? You’ve taken it, you know.”

“So now I’m a burglar?” Frodo said slowly, but his mind was moving away from their words as their bodies rocked against one another.

“Aye,” Sam sighed, “I hope you’re an honest one.”

“I’ll plunder you,” Frodo growled in his ear, “and we’ll see.”

Frodo awoke with a start and lay still, staring at the ceiling overhead, and felt his cheeks burn.

“Oh my,” he murmured weakly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is pretty much written to the end- so no worries about it being left unfinished. Including this chapter, there's about a quarter of the total story posted so far, if that gives you an idea of the length. I'll be updating with new chapters about every week. Thanks for the nice comments. It means a lot. I really enjoyed writing this story and I'm glad other people enjoy it too.

It was Sterday, so Sam would not be in the garden today but none the less when Frodo rose and went into the kitchen he found a small wooden carved figure on the breakfast table in front of his seat, and beside it a small bundle of glossy yellow flowers and one single stalk with several bright red blooms. The bundle was tied together with a simple twine bow. Frodo paused gazing at the flowers for a long moment, then reached down, picking the figure up. It was small enough to fit in his hand and the detail was impressive. Despite that he didn’t quite know what it was supposed to be. _A snake with bat wings…?_ he thought.  
  
“It’s Smaug,” Bilbo said from behind him. Frodo turned and looked at his uncle who was drying a plate.  
  
“Smaug?” he asked a little dully.  
  
“Sam was here early and wanted to stay until you woke, but I told him to go home. There wasn’t any telling when you would be up. Do you need tea or maybe coffee?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“Tea,” Frodo said and set the figure down. “He made that didn’t he?” Bilbo turned back and chuckled.  
  
“Yes Frodo, he did,” Bilbo said, as if it were obvious.  
  
“I didn’t know he could carve,” Frodo said defensively.  
  
“He can. And quite well I think,” Bilbo said. “I’ve told him dragons have a different head, but he still makes it look like a baby garter snake. Ah well. Still very nice.”  
  
“Yes, it’s very nice,” Frodo said and sat down, already muddled. Bilbo set a cup of steaming tea in front of him and he sipped it in contented silence for a while.  
  
He ought to find a way to thank Sam for all these little favors. The figure must have taken hours of work and a simple thank you seemed a little insufficient. There had to be a way to thank him that didn’t involve raising Sam’s hopes.

♦

  
Frodo went walking after breakfast with no destination in mind. He found himself down in the Party Field walking through the grass that had grown up tall from the rains. The sky was a deep blue overhead and the clouds were the sort that looked like solid white mountains that drifted lazily across the sky. He sighed in contentment and paused, looking out over the expanse of the field. They would be having the Lithe party here in a few weeks. It felt nice to be out in the sunshine and fresh air to sooth away troubled thoughts.  
  
He turned and looked across the field to the distant Bag Shot Row, and Number Three, pressed snug into the hill in the middle of the row smials. Slowly Frodo set off walking toward it. He knew he probably shouldn’t go see Sam, it was Sam’s day off and he was busy doing chores or enjoying time with his family, and Frodo shouldn’t intrude or bother him. But in the past when Frodo had been troubled he had often sought Sam out, though not necessarily to solve his problems, or even talk on them. Sam had always had a soothing effect on him and Frodo usually felt better after spending time with Sam, even if they had done nothing more than trade pleasantries. And he needed to thank him for the figure anyway.  
  
As he drew near the row Frodo caught of whiff of a pungent smell and spied Daisy sitting a ways off from the rear of Number Three, stirring a pot. She looked up and seeing him, stiffened. Frodo made his way to her and tipped his cap politely.  
  
“Good morning,” Frodo said as Daisy rose and curtsied clumsily in his direction.  
  
“Oh Mr. Frodo, good morning, beggin’ you pardon but you’d best keep back. I’m making soap,” she said. Frodo stopped and stood still, heeding her words. Hot bubbling lye was not something he wanted on his skin or clothes.  
  
“That’s pungent stuff,” Frodo agreed and Daisy gave him a tired smile.  
  
“Aye. It’s run the Gaffer off to the Bush even though I keep the pot well away from the smial. Sam helped me bring it out here and built the fire for me, but Da hates the smell.”  
  
“Well it’s good of you to do it,” Frodo told her, “your soap is fine stuff. Bilbo and I are still using the batch you made for us at Yule.” Daisy smiled prettily, delight apparent in her features.

“That’s kind of you to say Mr. Frodo,” she said.

“Is Sam about?” Frodo asked, “Or has the smell run him off too?” he asked. Daisy shook her head.

“I think he was looking at the chimney around the front of the smial, sir,” she said, “You might look for him there.” Frodo tipped his cap again stepping away.

“I’ll do that, thank you Miss Daisy,” he said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Frodo,” Daisy said sitting back down and took up her stirring spoon again. Frodo walked carefully along the path between the row smials, lined with vegetable and fruit plants and round the corner coming out in the little side garden of Number Three. It felt a little strange to be walking through the Gamgee’s garden, like he was trespassing on something private. He surreptitiously looked about for the source of his flowers but didn’t see any likely plants. He continued on until he came to the short wooden gate and let himself out onto Bag Shot Row.  
  
He still didn’t see Sam, but then Daisy had said he might be looking at the chimney. Frodo circled back and scrambled up the side of the hill that marked Number Three. On top of the smial he felt the wind pick up, tossing his curls around and he spied Sam turned away with his back to Frodo, squatting down near the base of the stone chimney, very intent on what he was doing. Frodo didn’t want to startle him so he drew closer, making a little noise as he walked. Sam turned and looked up at him, with no hint of surprise in his expression. He gave Frodo a brief smile and turned back to the chimney. For some reason this suited Frodo much better than if Sam had stood and greeted him. He went to sit near Sam and watched him prod the mortar between the stones.

“Da thinks we might have a leak somewheres,” Sam said softly, “But I’m wondering if the mortar hasn’t got soft.”

“You’d have to rebuild the whole chimney then wouldn’t you?” Frodo asked.

“Aye, but it’s better to do it now when we won’t be needing the fire so much,” Sam said sounding a little downhearted, “And the weather is good so we could do cooking outside for a while.” He turned and set his back to the chimney and closed his eyes. Frodo smiled, overcome with affection for a moment and moved closer, to sit beside Sam in the shadow of the chimney. Sam opened his eyes and looked over at Frodo, looking bolstered by his presence. Frodo gazed at him a moment, feeling warm and lazy contentment, up here alone with Sam in relative isolation.

“Thank you for Smaug,” he said quietly. “He’s a nice piece of work. I didn’t know that you carved.” Sam’s expression melted into a look of quiet delight and he glanced away, smiling.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “I took up carving a few years ago to have something to do in the evenings by the fire.” Frodo closed his eyes and relaxed.

“It’s so pleasant up here,” he murmured.

“It is at that,” Sam agreed and shifted so that their shoulders touched. Frodo felt himself smile a little at Sam’s familiarity but he didn’t move back.

“You look tired Mr. Frodo,” Sam said softly.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Frodo admitted and opened his eyes part way, “but I won’t fall asleep up here, I promise.”

“It would be alright if you did,” Sam said.

“You’re working up here. I’ll get in the way,” Frodo murmured.

“Nay, I’m done with it for the time being,” Sam said and Frodo heard him sigh, “Not anything I can do right now anyway.”

“Hm,” Frodo breathed and turned his head to peer at Sam. He was going to say something about letting Bilbo know about the chimney but Sam was watching him in a way that told Frodo the chimney had ceased to be at the forefront of his thoughts. Sam moved his hand to lay warmly over Frodo’s and Frodo found that he didn’t want to draw away. Sam’s expression smoothed at the touched and he gave a wistful smile that sent Frodo’s heart racing.  
  
He hadn’t meant to do this. Uncomfortably Frodo pulled his hand back. He shouldn’t have come up here, he shouldn’t have put himself in a position where he might encourage Sam, when all that he was after was a little peace. And who was he to use Sam as a tool of his own comfort anyway? It was arrogant and bold, especially given the dream he had last night, he had no business seeking Sam out like they were still only childhood friends who could cheer one another when trouble came. Frodo was disgusted with himself and suddenly determined to put a stop to this.

“What’s the matter?” Sam murmured softly and rested a hand awkwardly on Frodo’s shoulder.

“Why are you wasting your time on me?” Frodo asked, quietly. Sam gasped in surprise and his hand dropped away. Frodo wrenched his gaze away and looked out over the fields, “You know most lads your age are getting set up with the lasses, trying to settle on which one they’ll court seriously. You shouldn’t waste time and energy on courting a lad. It won’t do you any favors when you start courting the lasses. They don’t like lads who tryst with other lads. They say it weakens them.” Sam sat up and stared hard at him.

“It does not, and I don’t want to court lasses, I want to court you,” he said forcefully. “And it is not a waste of time.”

“Don’t be silly now,” Frodo told him quietly, glancing at him, “You can’t always have what you want, or who you want. Not even if you love them very much.” Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly but he didn’t say anything, though Frodo had half expected an angry retort. “Oh Sam, don’t use me to practice for courting your lass. I know I’ve taught you things in the past and we’re close but there’s others that could teach you far more without ruining your reputation.” Sam took a breath, looking hurt.

“That’s what you think I’m doing?” he asked. Frodo looked away, not liking that pained expression.

“Maybe if I were a better friend I’d let you. After all, you do so much for me,” Frodo sighed. “But I can’t. I’m sorry, but that’s the way that it is.” He heard Sam’s breath catch painfully.

“Is that what you come up here to tell me?” Sam asked.

“It would never work,” Frodo said quietly.

“It hasn’t been a week yet,” Sam said stubbornly, his voice high and even without looking Frodo could tell he was on the verge of tears.

“I fear my answer will be the same,” Frodo said, feeling terribly cruel. _I must be strong enough to stop this before it gets even worse,_ Frodo told himself. Sam sniffed and Frodo turned, unable to ignore Sam’s distress any longer.

“Oh my dear I’m so sorry,” Frodo said and put his arm around Sam’s shoulder. He felt Sam halfheartedly try and shake him off but Frodo held on stubbornly. “I didn’t come up here to say that. I only wanted to be near you- I adore you. It gives me peace to be with you. But I can’t bear to lead you on.” Sam looked at him through the tears, frowning.

“I don’t know what to say to tell you I’m doing this for the right reasons; that I believe all I say,” Sam said slowly, “Da give me some advice, he said to court the one I think will make me happy, not the one who is most free; and that’s what I’m doing.” Frodo cocked his head and felt his brow knit.

“You think I’d make you happy?” he asked incredulously. Sam fixed him with his strong hazel gaze.

“Aye,” he said with conviction, “Do I make you happy?” Frodo took a deep breath feeling as if he had taken a knock. Sam’s hand came back to light on his shoulder, “You said it gives you peace to be with me.”

“Yes,” Frodo breathed.

“Then there is a clue, Frodo Baggins,” Sam growled. Frodo laughed but it was a breathless laugh without joy.

“I wish it were so simple,” he said. “Oh I’m sorry I ever gave you hope. I shouldn’t have ever encouraged you, it’s made it all the more painful for both of us.”

“Sir!” Sam cried but Frodo pushed on determinedly. He was done with this going back and forth.

“You are a talented handsome lad, who has a great deal of kindness and love in his heart,” Frodo said, “You deserve more than someone toying with you and leading you on. I was flattered and charmed by you, but that is no excuse for treating you so. I’m so sorry,” he said and pulled away, standing. He felt on the verge of tears himself and he didn’t want Sam to see him cry.

“Wait,” Sam said, rising as well but Frodo was moving down the hill.

“Please Sam, I don’t feel well,” Frodo said, not turning around. “Give my regards to the Gaffer.” He didn’t bother to wait and see if Sam said anything else, he scrambled down the incline and pushed quickly into the row road, walking briskly up it, toward the Hill. He passed the Widow and felt himself nod to her politely, but his heart was pounding so heard he couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his head. He didn’t run up the road to Bag End, that would have been graceless, but he came very close to it.

He pushed through the front gate and padded up the steps to the front door. He sincerely hoped Bilbo had gone out or was entrenched so deeply in his books he wouldn’t notice his nephew’s return. Frodo opened the door and went in, going so quickly down the hall that it wouldn’t have mattered if Bilbo had been in, Frodo was in his bedroom with the door closed in a matter of moments.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, leaning back against the closed door and finally broke into tears. This hurt far more than it had any right to. He hadn’t even let the courtship start and yet here he was, completely wracked with pain. He went to his bed and cast himself down, curling into the soft linens, hoping that they would stifle the sounds of his grief. He didn’t want Bilbo coming in here trying to comfort him, in fact he would be quite happy if he never had to see anyone ever again. A hard sob tore through him and Frodo reached for a pillow and thrust his head under it. He hadn’t cried like this in years.

There was a touch at his shoulder and Frodo jerked in terrified surprise, crying out. How had Bilbo come in without him hearing-? But it wasn’t Bilbo that stood by the bedside staring down at him, but Sam. Frodo felt his face burn with shame and fury at being caught so.

“Sam!” he cried and Sam flinched, stepping back, but he had that stubborn look in his eye.

“Frodo-” he began, his voice low and soothing but Frodo was so appalled that Sam was in his bedroom, so appalled that Sam was watching him cry that Frodo barely heard him.

“I want to be alone,” he said angrily, “How did you get in here?” Sam glanced at the window, which was open with the curtains blowing tranquilly from the slight breeze in the garden. Frodo let out an angry huff of air. “You can’t just come in through my window whenever you want,” he snapped, “Now leave please. I told you I’m not feeling well.” He thought he managed to sound dignified, all but that he was blushing and tear stained and surely mussed. Sam hesitated a moment but then his resolve firmed and he crossed his arms, his jaw jutting out in stubbornness.

“No,” he said. Frodo gave a great sigh and set his head on the pillow he was still clutching. He was too tired to argue.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Frodo said, trying to sound insistent, but his voice came out weary and sad.

“Yes I should. It’s my fault you’re feeling so bad,” Sam said, his expression softening, and he stepped closer to the bed, sitting down beside him. Frodo scowled but Sam set his hand on Frodo’s back, “I didn’t never mean to make you sad, nor upset you,” he added, “I was going for the opposite, you know.”

“You’re not going to change my mind,” Frodo warned him, wriggling away uncomfortably.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Sam said with indignation in his voice, “I don’t care about courting, not if it makes you this unhappy. I followed you cause I knew you were hurt.” He paused and said in a quieter voice,

“We’re friends. We’ve always been there for one another.” Frodo smiled ruefully and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. He wouldn’t have said that, it was more that Sam looked after him.

“When have I ever been there for you?” Frodo mused quietly. Sam snorted in exasperation.

“Hundreds of times, you’re just so bloody noble that you don’t think on it that way,” he said.

“Don’t swear at me,” Frodo said sharply, “I’m your master.”

“No you’re not, Mr. Bilbo is,” Sam said with some satisfaction. Frodo cast a frown at him and Sam smiled a little uncertainly. “Do you remember when my mam died?” Sam blinked and his gaze moved away, “You stayed with me and let me cry on your shoulder.” That was true enough, Frodo had, but Sam had been ten years old; of course he had comforted the child.

“It must be strange for you to see me like this,” Frodo said, feeling ridiculous. Sam shrugged. “Maybe I owe you an explanation,” Frodo said softly.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Sam said gruffly, “and if I were embarrassed to see you cry, well I climbed in your window, so that’s my own fault.” He paused, “But if you want to talk on what’s bothering you so, then I’ll listen.”

“How much of my sordid past did Bilbo tell you?” Frodo asked quietly, “I know he told you something.” Sam was silent for a long moment then he cleared his throat uneasily.

“He said you had dealing with a lad in Buckland and the Brandybucks weren’t best pleased. That they told you things that weren’t true, and they were hard on you.”

“Ah,” Frodo sighed. Well it could have been worse, he reflected. “That’s right. When we were found out there were consequences. Not so many for me, but the lad I was with, he was a working hobbit, and he lost his position.” Frodo sighed and said in a low voice, “And I’m nearly sure he was beaten. My relatives spared me because it would attract attention and they didn’t want a scandal.” He heard Sam’s breathing catch but didn’t look up. “It was a very short time afterwards that uncle Saradoc began talking on sending me away.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” Sam said softly. “Though I’m glad you came to Hobbiton.” Frodo smiled.

“Me too,” he murmured. “But you see why I’m reluctant to let you take such a risk?” Sam shifted a little closer. “It hurts terribly when it ends, you know. There’s loneliness, and guilt, and people can be so very cruel about it.” He sighed, “My life has been uprooted more than once and I don’t want to be the cause of uprooting your life... or mine.” Sam sighed.

“Lor' but Mr. Bilbo is right about you; you take too much on your own shoulders and don’t see as there’s those around you who would help you,” he said in a scolding tone. Frodo frowned at him. “It was bad what those Brandybucks did and if I had my way I’d go fix them, but Mr. Bilbo told me I’m not to threaten gentlehobbits.”

“No, you’ll get into terrible trouble,” Frodo said.

“Thumping a gentlehobbit is the least I would do for you,” Sam mused. “Taking a bit of flak for casting my eye on you, I’ll take that too, and gladly.”

“It wouldn’t just be disapproval-”

“And this ain’t Buckland,” Sam interrupted, “And we’ve got Mr. Bilbo on our side. He’s always done as he pleased and got his way and folk still toast him, even if they gossip about him.” Sam shook his head, “No, I’m sorry. I said as I wouldn’t try and change your mind. I’m only meaning to say that you ought not take all the hardness from the past and pile it on yourself. Those Brandybucks are still riding you, and there ain’t no cause for you to let them.”

“That’s what Bilbo said,” Frodo sighed.

“Mr. Bilbo is the wisest person in the world,” Sam said without a hint of disbelief. “Now, what’s bothering you so about what happened? My Gaffer always says to look at the practical side of things. Are you worried the other lad never found another job?”

“Ah, er,” Frodo stuttered, frowning, “He came from a farming family.”

“Then he’d never be without a job. But we could make sure, couldn’t we? Give me a name and I’ll find out what happened to him. Me and da have connections with all the farmers in the West Farthing, and I bet some of them know Bucklanders.”

“Sam that’s very kind of you but-”

“You feel bad he was shamed and hurt? Well, that’s been a long time ago and while there’s no helping it, folk get over that sort of thing, you know.”

“I know,” Frodo murmured.

“And those Bucklanders, your relations that shamed you, do you really care about them? Did they care about you?”

“Not really,” Frodo admitted.

“And it all ended with you being sent to live with those as do care for you,” Sam said quietly. “You told me you feel right here, that you have purpose here. That can’t be a bad thing.”

“No, it’s a wonderful thing,” Frodo sighed.

“Then beg your pardon, but I don’t see any reason for you to hold on to any of that nonsense. I know you were embarrassed and it made you loath to cast your eye on another lad but you can’t think that I or Mr. Bilbo would let anyone go after you like that again. You’re safe here.” He took a deep breath, “You said folks think it makes a lad weak to lay with another lad, and I’m thinking we have your Brandybucks to thank for that notion too. I’ve heard the same sort of things in the pub, and worse things,” he added quietly and Frodo felt himself go still. “But you can’t believe that nonsense.”

“Why not?” Frodo said softly, “I’ve always known there was something odd about me. It’s not right for a lad not to want to lay with a lass, and worse for him to take a lad as his love. Nothing can come from such a union and you can’t tell me otherwise.” Sam sighed but Frodo plowed onward, “and I don’t want to inflict that peculiarity on you. You at least have prospects at present. You don’t need your family and friends questioning your malehood.” Sam’s eyes widened.

“Is that what they did to you?” he asked quietly. Frodo winced and cast his gaze at the coverlet. He really hadn’t meant to divulge that. “Oh Frodo…”

“The point is, Sam-” Frodo went on quickly but Sam cut him off.

“I’ve lain with a lad,” he said and Frodo turned back to stare at him, mouth agape for a long moment.

“What?” he gasped weakly.

“Aye,” Sam said stoutly, “And da knows of it too. Oh, he didn’t like it much, don’t get me wrong, but he never took it so far as your relations went. He was just a bit grumpier with me for a while.” Frodo stared, shocked by this revelation. He was honestly still new to the idea that Sam wasn’t an innocent babe. After this week he had begun to think that his friend might have kissed and fondled one of the pretty local girls, but he would have never thought Sam had been with a male. “These things happen,” Sam said softly, “maybe it’s different for the gentry, but country lads often tryst with each other, what with lasses being so well looked after and not ready for marriage till they come of age. And it’s safer with another lad, for you can’t get him with child.”

“But there’s many who don’t like it, who don’t approve…” Frodo tried weakly and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Aye, and they don’t approve of much do they? They don’t approve of reading or foreigners or anything unexpected. But you’d not live your life by what they don’t approve of, would you?” he asked. “Those Brandybucks were out to scare you it sounds like to me, so they made it sound like you was the only one who ever cast your eyes on a lad, and that it was sommat to be shamed on. It’s not so. Not even among the gentry, if half the tales I hear are true. The world is a bigger place than those Brandybucks know, and there’s no cause for you to believe their bile. You’re so much wiser than they are.” Frodo clutched at Sam’s hand, and let out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh,” he sighed.

“Frodo?” Sam said worriedly and gripped his hand.

“… Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Frodo asked in a murmur.

“I would have!” Sam cried, “I didn’t know you thought otherwise. You always seemed to know everything, and I wouldn’t have thought it my place to talk on such things with you!”

“You’ve given me a great deal to think on,” Frodo murmured. Sam looked as if he were about to say something else but stopped, closing his mouth once more. He blinked quickly looking as if he were suppressing tears and reached up tangle his fingers in Frodo’s curls.

“Do you feel any better?” he asked.

“Yes I do,” Frodo said and found it was true. The bond between him and Sam wasn’t broken, and while he hadn’t quite sorted out all of what Sam said, he felt his fear ease. Sam smiled at him and drew away, sitting up.

“Can I get you some tea?” he asked.

“No, that’s alright,” Frodo said, sitting up as well and considered Sam, “It’s your day off. I can make my own tea.”

“Well, I maybe should go then,” Sam said looking down. Frodo couldn’t help himself, he put his arms around Sam and embraced him. He felt Sam’s hands on his back and Sam tucked his face against Frodo’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said quietly. Sam drew back and met his eyes.

“You can always talk to me,” he said.

“I know,” Frodo smiled and stood, finding his pocket handkerchief and wiped the unpleasantly dried tears from his face and blew his nose. He heard Sam stand too and step over to the window. “What are your plans the rest of the day?” Frodo asked conversationally and turned to see Sam with his hands on the sill. Sam thought a moment.

“I’ll probably go see Da in town and have lunch with him. We might do a bit of shopping while we wait for Hal, he supposed to be coming on the mail cart sometime this afternoon. Oh, and I’ll need to do a bit of wood chopping sometime. Mari’s been roasting a duck all day over at the widow’s, seeing as how she has a roasting spit, and Daisy is making soap, so they’re fair going through the wood.” Frodo felt soothed by his talk; he adored this homely stuff and that was probably one of the chief reasons he found Sam so reassuring.

“That all sounds wonderful,” he said, “I hope you have a good visit with your brother.”

“Thank you Mr. Frodo I will,” Sam said, “What about you? Do you have plans?”

“I think I’ll go spend time with Bilbo,” Frodo said, “That’s if I can draw him from his books. I haven’t appreciated being around the old fellow as I should.”

“You might ask him to teach you some cooking. He likes that,” Sam said. “There’s naught like the promise of food to get Mr. Bilbo from his books.”

“Thank you. I’ll try that,” Frodo promised. Sam sent him a last look and a smile before vaulting over the window sill.

“Good bye then, sir,” he called.

“Good bye Sam,” Frodo answered and stared after him, hearing Sam move off into the garden. _How extraordinary,_ he thought.

♦

  
He went out into the hall and found Bilbo in his study, buried in thick dusty books, stacked all around him. Frodo paused in the doorway, watching his uncle with fondness. He recalled how the hobbit had looked strolling up to Brandy Hall all those years ago, stubbornly refusing either pony or carriage because he wanted to ‘keep in practice’. "Keep in practice for what?" Frodo had asked him, bounding alongside his elder like an excited pup. "Adventuring of course," Bilbo had answered gruffly and produced a peppermint stick from his pack which he had slipped to Frodo, despite Aunt Esme’s prohibition of the sticky candy.

“Bilbo?” Frodo called.

“Hm?” Bilbo murmured distractedly, not looking up.

“Will you teach me to cook something?” Frodo asked. He saw Bilbo pause in writing and the old hobbit looked up, pushing his spectacles up onto his forehead.

“Frodo?” he asked.

“Yes sir?”

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes sir,” Frodo answered, “Sam says you taught him to make a pie.”

“…You want pie for lunch?” Bilbo asked, reaching for a cloth to wipe his pen nib.

“It could be a meat pie,” Frodo said and stepped into the study. Bilbo was peering at him curiously, but apparently he decided not to comment on Frodo’s request but instead stood and stretched.

“Ah, well, maybe I ought to take a break,” he said, “Cooking might just be the thing.” He padded over to Frodo and put an arm around his shoulder leading him to the kitchen.

They spent the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon baking. It turned out that making pie crust was a rather more involved process than Frodo would have thought. While he mixed the flour and butter Bilbo peeled potatoes and ground the pork, explaining which spices would be best to use in the meat. Frodo listened attentively and did as he was told but his mind was drifting.

He thought on how lucky he was to have Bilbo as his guardian; Bilbo had often disparaged his own familial instincts, claiming that he had none but Frodo knew better. Bilbo might meddle, and he might falter and go awkward when he felt he was out of his depth, but deep down Frodo knew that Bilbo was a kindhearted soul who meant well and cared deeply for those around him. That went doubly for young hobbits, for Bilbo seemed to regard them as having far most interesting and open minds than grown hobbits, and thus the old master took more care with them.

Frodo suddenly recalled a warm memory from before he had come to live permanently at Bag End, on a long ago winter evening when Bilbo had invited the row families to Bag End for dinner. Frodo had been focused on being polite and well mannered, for some of the row families had not met him then, and Frodo was eager to make a good impression. He had talked with the adults in the kitchen for a long time before he noticed that Bilbo was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling a little lost without the older Baggins Frodo had drifted out of the conversation in the kitchen and gone in search of Bilbo. He found his uncle in the parlor sitting in the middle of the sofa with the Gamgee and Twofoot children vying for space around the old master so that they could see the pictures in the book he was reading to them. Frodo had gone silently in and sat on the floor near Daisy, who had been too grown up and dignified to fight for space on the sofa. Frodo remembered gazing up at his uncle who was engrossed in the story, his arm circling little Marigold Gamgee and Jaro Twofoot who were curled together, while Sam leaned heavily on Bilbo’s other arm, his eyes alight at being read to, with May Gamgee and Lily Twofoot asleep against Sam’s other side.

The whole picture had been so cozy that Frodo had put his arm around Daisy and she had cast a shy blushing look his way, but had leaned against the young gentlehobbit, just as content as he was to listen to the children’s tale. It was then that Frodo realized just how he loved the old hobbit and how right and homelike it felt at Bag End, and his heart yearned to be a part of this place. It was so very different from Brandy Hall, where the classes were so sharply divided, where everyone was stiff and polite, and even if Aunt Esme and little Merry doted on him, there was no sense of warm family to enfold him. Not like at Bag End.

And Sam made him feel that same sense of home; and it wasn’t only that Sam was so often to be seen around Bag End, but the lad had ingrained himself into the warmth and love present in the Hill. Home was Bilbo and Bag End and Sam.

And maybe that was why Frodo should trust him, why more than any other reason it might be alright for them to love. Just as he had trusted Bilbo, had trusted in that feeling of family and left Buckland, maybe he could trust Sam and together they could travel the span from friends to lovers. There certainly was no reason for him to trust the Brandybucks over Sam or Bilbo. He well recalled Uncle Gorbulas’s face when Seredic told him what he had caught Frodo doing and his uncle gave him a look of revulsion.

“I’m only glad that my dear Primula can’t see what has become of her son,” he had said, “That he should want to spread his legs as a lass does.” And Frodo had felt such a crush of pain and shame as he had never felt before or since.

“This is not done,” Seredic had said fixing him with a hot glare, “not by civilized hobbits. It will ruin any chance you have to find a good home and depending on Saradoc it may very well get you cast out of the home you have now.” And that was when Frodo had branded in his mind that he must never lay with another lad, or else that shame would bring his ruin. But he would not believe that anymore. Sam’s words came to him, _you’re safe here,_ and Frodo knew that was the truth. There was nothing wrong with him. He was not stunted for what he felt, for no one could say Sam wasn’t good and strong and all that a lad should be, and yet he had laid with another lad and had not lost those virtues. He hadn’t even lost his father’s good opinion.  
  
Sam and Bilbo had been right; there wasn’t any reason for him to fear anymore. And if there wasn’t any reason to fear then… Frodo felt a warm glow spreading through him and he closed his eyes, smiling.

“Frodo-lad, I think you’ve mixed the dough well enough,” came Bilbo’s voice. “Not too much now or it will dry out. Hand me the rolling pin and we’ll get it pressed into the pan in no time.”

“Yes sir,” Frodo said softly.

“You’ve been quiet,” Bilbo observed.

“I’ve been thinking I suppose,” Frodo admitted.

“Oh yes?”

“You and Sam must think I’m very silly, unable to come to a conclusion about this whole courting business,” Frodo murmured, “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.” He saw Bilbo pause and cast a curious look at him.

“No need to apologize. Not to me, certainly. We knew you would have some concerns to work out. And we both know you well enough to know that no amount of prodding or wheedling would speed the process. Not that that stopped us trying,” he chuckled, “I hope we haven’t pushed you too much.”

“What pushing you did I probably needed,” Frodo conceded.

“Hm,” Bilbo set the potatoes aside, “You make it sound as if you’ve reached a decision.”

“… I think I have,” Frodo said quietly. Bilbo looked up expectantly and Frodo found himself smiling unable to say anything else.

“I really hope you mean that you’ll accept Sam’s offer,” Bilbo said, straightening his back.

“I believe that I will,” Frodo said and felt like laughing but held back, only grinning.

“Well I am happy about that, I will not pretend that I am anything but delighted,” Bilbo said taking him by the shoulders, his face lit with happiness, “So what brought this about?”

“I went to see Sam this morning,” Frodo said quietly, “we had some words, you see, and he gave me a deal to think on.” He dropped into a lower tone, “I thought loving a lad would always be a shameful thing, even if I didn’t lose my home over it. But I don’t think that anymore. Sam is such a part of my life and our home; I don’t think I ought to be ashamed to accept his favors.” Bilbo patted his shoulders and released him, giving him a pleased smile.

“Just so,” he said. “Have you told Sam?”

“No,” Frodo said, “I’ve only just sorted through it all. And besides, I still need to get his father’s permission.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said and his expression dimmed a little.

“Do you really think Hamfast will approve?” Frodo asked quietly a shadow of doubt coming over him.

“Not to worry,” Bilbo said dismissively, “You just let me have a talk with him first. Then we’ll see what’s what. Now,” he paused and sent a calculating look toward Frodo, “I think you ought to tell Sam his prospects are looking up. Perhaps you need and excuse to go and see him?” he turned back to the pie crust and smiled, “Maybe we’ll save some of this pie for the Gamgees. Hal is in town and they’re throwing a feast for him. I think it’s only right that the Bagginses make a contribution.” Frodo laughed.

“Very well. That sounds proper,” he agreed, “But I wonder if it isn’t unkind to get Sam’s hopes up, if his father might still put a stop to it all.” Bilbo frowned and stared out the window for a long moment.

“I think you owe Sam the truth of where things stand,” he said in a low voice, “Even if you have to caution him that you aren’t accepting his favors yet. I think he ought to know where your heart is in the matter.” Frodo bowed his head. He agreed with Bilbo, but it was still going to be a difficult conversation. He hadn’t exactly left Sam with the most optimistic view of their courtship. No, actually he had told Sam there would be no chance of it. He was suddenly desperate to get down to Number Three.

“How long will the pie take?” Frodo asked anxiously. Bilbo’s face relaxed.

“An hour or so. Don’t fret,” he said but Frodo was already fretting.

♦

  
An hour and a half later he was walking down the row road, pie plate in hand, the dish covered by a clean towel. It was only midafternoon, so Frodo thought there was a good chance the Gamgees had not finished all of their cooking and he hoped he wouldn’t be interrupting anything. He had an uncomfortable vision of knocking on Number Three’s door and being greeted by the whole household. He would feel silly asking for Sam to step out and walk with him when clearly it was an important family gathering going on.

But as Frodo drew near the smial he felt his anxiety ease, for he could hear someone chopping wood. He couldn’t help but smile and slip between the row homes, finding Sam out in the field behind the row, axe in hand, splitting wood. The axe came down and rent the log in two and Sam lay the axe down to retrieve the logs. As he did he caught sight of Frodo and went still for a moment, before he straightened, surprised delight in his expression.

“Hello again,” Frodo said, coming toward him.

“Hello,” Sam said and his eyes went curiously to the dish Frodo held. “And what’s this?” he asked. Frodo neared and stopped looking down at it, feeling a little bashful.

“A peace offering, and an excuse to come and see you if you want the truth,” he said and looked up to see Sam giving him a puzzled smile, “A meat pie. Bilbo though we ought to contribute to the Gamgee feast. We baked it this afternoon.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you, and of Mr. Bilbo,” Sam said. “But we’ve peace between us and why would you need an excuse to come and see me?”

“Oh, er, I thought you might be with your family,” Frodo said. “Is Hal here yet?”

“Aye, but him and the Gaffer are still in town. They’re having tea with some of Hal’s old friends and then they’ll come down. That’s probably for the best, the girls are in a foul mood,” he added darkly.

“Oh dear,” Frodo chuckled sympathetically. “I know you haven’t much time, but do you think you could walk with me? Just for a few minutes.” Sam met his eyes and paused for a moment.

“Aye,” he said. “I’ll tell the girls… I don’t know what I’ll tell them, but aye.”

“Tell them we’ve gone to the spring house,” Frodo said, striking on a sudden inspiration, “that I have a pudding I want to contribute as well.” Sam turned back and grinned.

“Now sir, you needn’t be giving us all that,” he said, “the pie is fine.”

“No Sam, after all that I’ve put you through the last few days you deserve far more than a pudding. Let me do this at least,” Frodo said and offered him the pie dish, “No reason to carry it with us.”

“Right,” Sam said, taking it from him and began walking toward the back end of Number Three. “I’ll be back in a moment sir.” Frodo waited, feeling his stomach flutter with nerves. He paced a little and whistled to try and distract himself but it was only a few minutes before Sam emerged from the hole and bounded toward him. He caught up to Frodo and together they made their way to the lane and headed out to the main road, away from the row smials.

“I want to thank you for putting up with me the last few days,” Frodo said, “this morning especially.” Sam sent him a puzzled look and shrugged.

“I’ll always want to help you. I haven’t been bothered by anything you’ve done,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I’m accustomed to being decisive, or at least knowing my own mind,” Frodo said quietly, “I’ve been confused on this matter, for a long time. But I think you’ve finally helped me settle it.”

“Settle, eh?” Sam asked, “So you’re not letting those Brandybucks tell you how to feel?”

“No. I see little reason to trust their opinions,” Frodo said quietly.

“Good,” Sam said forcefully with satisfaction in his voice. Frodo sent him a grin and met his eyes.

“There is one more matter I need to solve, and if I am able to solve it, I wonder,” he took a breath, the nerves coming on and making his heart pound, “I wonder if you would still want to court me?” Sam stopped still in the path and stared, his face lit and his eyes round.

“Yes of course!” he cried and reached for Frodo’s hand, “Of course I do! What’s this problem you need to solve?” Frodo felt himself grin helplessly at Sam’s reaction and clasped his hand.

“It’s for me deal with, but I hope to have a resolution within a day or two,” he said.

“But what is it?” Sam asked insistently.

“I need your father’s permission,” Frodo said quietly and Sam’s eye rounded.

“Oh,” he said in a small voice.

“Bilbo’s said he’ll help,” Frodo said and Sam nodded.

“Aye, but he’s my da. I’ll get his permission,” Sam said quietly, “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“You’ll speak with him about it, of course,” Frodo said gently, “But it really does need to be me that asks. That’s how these things are done, as I understand it. And you got permission from Bilbo, so it’s only fair that I get permission from your father.” Sam cast a doubtful look at him.

“Mr. Bilbo gave me permission without me asking for it. It weren’t like I had to work up the nerve to ask him.”

“Even so. I need to do this,” Frodo told him and released his hand. Sam breathed out but looked up, with a smile.

“Alright,” he said. They had approached the spring house, a small hole dug over a spring that was used to store the cold goods for Bag End and the row homes. Frodo opened the door and let Sam in ahead of him. Sam walked a few steps in and turned around, aglow with happiness, a grin spreading over his face. Frodo gave him a questioning look, but felt himself smiling too.

“What?” he asked.

“I cannot help it,” Sam said, “I’m happy as a little lad.” Frodo’s smile widened. It was touching that Sam should be so elated over him.

“Are you?” he asked, stepping farther into the spring house.

“Aye. It’s like I swallowed a whole bottle of Mr. Bilbo’s whiskey,” he chuckled, “Without the headache.” Frodo laughed, feeling a little giddy himself.

“I know what you mean,” he admitted, grinning. Sam turned to him, still filled with joy and they gazed at each other. Silence stretched for a long moment. Sam’s smile remained but his eyes had gone thoughtful.  
"Nay, it’s like I stepped into a tale,” he said quietly, “to think you… might want to be with me like that.”

“That’s not so unbelievable, is it?” Frodo asked, sobering. Sam looked down shyly.

“I’m naught special,” he murmured, “and besides that I thought you only saw me as a child.”

“I did see you as a child, until recently,” Frodo admitted and had to stop himself from reaching out to Sam, “but that was my fault for not paying attention. And I don’t know how you can say you aren’t special,” he paused and Sam looked up, “It’s not just anyone that would follow a Baggins. And as for me not wanting to be with you…” he glanced down nervously, “that’s silly. You’re charming and handsome and sweet.”

“Mr. Frodo, you’re making me blush,” Sam said, gazing at the shelves in front of them.

“Would you believe, I dreamt last night of kissing you?” Frodo added quietly. Sam looked up, startled and gazed at Frodo, his mouth open in astonishment.

“Did you like it?” he asked softly. Frodo met his eyes.

“Oh yes,” he said. Sam looked down and took a breath. It suddenly felt very private in the enclosed springhouse.

“I know you can’t give me an answer yet, till you’ve talked with da,” Sam said slowly, “but knowing how you feel about it… Would it be wrong to kiss you?” he asked and added, “A real kiss I mean. Not like last night.” Frodo raised his eye brows and thought on it. He felt his heart pick up again in anticipation, but he schooled his features. He shouldn’t get carried away, he cautioned himself.

“It might not be strictly proper,” he said quietly.

“Aye,” Sam agreed, but he stepped closer all the same and Frodo reached for his arms, hooking his hands around Sam’s elbows and gulped.

“But I would guess there are very few couples that abide completely by propriety… And a kiss in private…” he tugged Sam closer, “Isn’t so very improper, is it?” Sam didn’t answer but pressed forward, turning his face to catch Frodo’s lips against his own, their noses brushing as their breaths mingled. Frodo moved his lips against Sam’s experimentally and opened his mouth slightly to Sam’s warmth. He felt Sam shift and a soft sound came from him as he slipped his tongue forward for a quick shy lap. Frodo chuckled softly at this and slid an arm around Sam’s back. Even if he hadn’t done it in a while, Frodo was finding that he remembered how to kiss quite well, and before long he and Sam were tentatively exploring the softness of each other’s lips and the wet ticklish feeling of the other’s tongue, neither seeming overly eager for the kiss to end.

It did end finally when they drew away to take deep breaths and gaze at one another. Frodo still had his arms around Sam and Sam was flushed and very becoming in the dim light. He felt a stirring between his legs but ignored it, gingerly pulling his arms back.

“That was glorious,” Sam sighed.

“Yes it was,” Frodo agreed and they grinned at each other, giddy and breathless. “We shouldn’t dally. You’re sisters will be looking for you.” He wasn’t sure if he said it out of awkwardness or for fear that he would draw Sam into another kiss, for the feeling of holding Sam and kissing him had been deeply pleasurable. Sam gave him a quick smile, but didn’t seem bothered by Frodo’s statement, though he was still flushed and breathing quickly.

“Like as not,” he said. “… Do you know when you’ll ask my dad?” Frodo took a breath.

“I’ll ask Bilbo if he’ll talk to your father tomorrow. If all goes well, I suppose I’ll ask him after that.”

“Ah,” Sam said and studied the shelf in front of him, rubbing his hand along the wood grain. Frodo licked his lip nervously.

“Eager?” he asked softly. Sam turned, and laughed, nodding and blushed deeper.

“Aye,” he said quietly, “I’ll not lie.”

“Me too,” Frodo admitted and Sam’s smile turned a little sly.

“I must have been to your taste,” he said. Frodo cleared his throat and reached for the dish with the pudding he had been looking for.

“… It’s made me rather hungry for more if you want the truth,” he said. When he turned, dish in hand he was caught by Sam’s expression; he had Frodo fixed firmly in his gaze and there was desire in his eyes. Frodo froze and clutched the ceramic dish, willing himself not to put it down and take Sam in his arms again. “But I’ll have to wait for that,” he said softly, “And I hope it will be all the sweeter for the wait.” He met Sam’s eyes again, and saw longing come into his friend’s face.

“It will be,” Sam said quietly. Frodo smiled at him and stepped to the door, pushing it open.

“We ought to get this to Number Three before it gets much later,” Frodo said.

“Yes, I would think the Gaffer and Hal might be back before too long,” Sam said as he caught up to Frodo outside. They walked along the lane for a moment before Sam broke the silence again, “Would- would you like to go to the Green Dragon tomorrow night?” he asked. Frodo tilted his head, considering.

“We’re making a habit of this,” he said. Sam grinned.

“It’s just, it feels like we ought to celebrate it.”

“I suppose so,” Frodo said and looked down, feeling secret delight, “and it will be nice to spend the evening with you.” Sam gave him a shy smile.

“Aye,” he said and peered at the covered dish. “And what sort of pudding is it?” he asked.

“Summer fruit pudding,” Frodo said and lifted the lid, “Looks like raspberry, blackcurrant, redcurrant and blackberries.”

“I think you’re out to charm my da,” Sam laughed, “He loves summer pudding.”

“He’s not the only Gamgee I’m out to charm,” Frodo said, giving Sam a sidelong look. He felt a ridiculous rush of nerves at the flirtation but the feeling evaporated when Sam snorted into his hand and looked away. Frodo felt himself grinning, his heart light and happy. This morning he never would have thought he would be bantering love words with Sam on the lane, but here he was, doing just that.

 _One’s entire perspective really can change in one day,_ he reflected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower notes  
> Celandine (yellow flowers): Joy to come  
> Gladiolus (single stalk with several red flowers): I am sincere; Strength


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo scanned the clouds and frowned. It looked like rain and he really didn’t want to get caught in a storm. On the other hand there was no way Frodo was going to let him have any peace if he put off going to the Gamgees any longer than propriety would allow.  
  
Frodo had come back to Bag End yesterday afternoon with his head in the clouds and a vague smile on his face, so Bilbo had not needed to ask how things had gone with Sam. But he did anyway, for he knew his nephew would like recounting his triumph, at least some of it; Bilbo suspected he was getting a cleaned up version of the tale, as if he were a child whose eyes needed to be covered when there was kissing going on.  
  
Besides the possibility of rain, Bilbo had one other slight problem: he didn’t really know what to say to Ham that would convince the old gardener to let Sam court Frodo. Oh, he had been confident at first, for he had on occasion wheedled Hamfast into certain measures that the old hobbit had been opposed to, like Sam’s reading lessons, an extra pay stipend after Bell died, and even long ago when Bilbo had talked a nervous and unwilling Ham into proposing to his sweetheart. But those things didn’t exactly compare to this. This was on a separate scale, and even Bilbo Baggins knew it.  
  
“Bollocks, bloody bollocks on a blasted biscuit,” Bilbo muttered under his breath. He didn’t curse often but he had found in his old age that it seemed to help lift his spirits whenever he got himself into some mischief.  
  
_Well, enough stalling,_ he reflected, squaring his shoulders, and strolled down the hill.  
  
“Bilbo?” Bilbo turned and saw Frodo, sticking his head out the front door, watching him apprehensively.  
  
“Yes lad?” he asked.  
  
“Good luck,” Frodo said quietly. Bilbo paused and gave his nephew a broad smile.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, “But I shan’t need it. Never fear, dear boy.” Good heavens but when had he gotten so cocky? Frodo smiled and it lit his face.  
  
“All the same, thank you,” he said his hands tightening on the door. Bilbo flashed him one last smile and turned back to the road.  
  
“Start lunch if you want to thank me,” Bilbo called casually, “I find that negotiating leaves me peckish.”  
  
“Yes sir,” he heard Frodo say and heard the sound of the door closing. He strode down to Number Three quickly before he thought better of it and knocked on the door. It was May who answered the door and blinked in surprise at seeing the Master of the Hill on their front stoop. Bilbo realized it had been quite a long time since he had walked down to the smial in person. He usually met Hamfast at Bag End or sent Frodo down if he needed something fetched or carried to the Gamgees.  
  
“Afternoon Miss May,” Bilbo said, touching his cap to which May blushed and curtsied.  
  
“Begging pardon Mr. Bilbo. 'Tis a pleasure to see you. Won’t you come in?” she asked in the characteristic politeness that all the Gamgee children had imbued in their speech.  
  
“Thank you my pretty lass. Is your father in?” he asked.  
  
“Yes sir,” she said turning, “if you’ll follow me.” Bilbo bent and stepped into the warm smial, glancing at the drying herbs in the rafters overhead. He always recalled there being herbs or flowers drying, potatoes strung up or kegs of ale stacked here around the entrance to the hole, as if the hole were showing off its abundance of life, though Bilbo knew it was only because space was very limited in the hole with four children and the Gaffer calling it home at present.  
  
They moved through the narrow entrance room and into the larger kitchen and fire room that was the main communal room of Number Three. Bilbo recalled that there were three other small bedrooms that had been dug out on the left side of the hole, one room for the three girls and one room for the three boys and one room for Bell and Ham.  
  
The Gaffer sat crouched in front of the fire, frowning at it until May went to his side and touched his shoulder. The Gaffer turned and caught sight of Bilbo and his frown eased into a pleased smile. He rose stiffly as Bilbo held his hand out and the Gaffer took it, clasping it in his warm dry grip. Bilbo couldn’t recall when it had begun, but this had been the way they greeted one another for decades.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo, this is a nice surprise,” Hamfast said, “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in. I think I might be getting a little deaf.”  
  
“I’m afraid I’m a fellow sufferer,” Bilbo said as they stepped back and the Gaffer turned to stir the logs, “it’s the high sounds for me. Frodo is always complaining that I never hear the door ringer.”  
  
“Have a seat sir; that is if you have time for tea, or something stronger…?” the Gaffer inquired.  
  
“Something stronger would be well appreciated,” Bilbo said, taking a seat by the fire. Though the days were usually warm this time of year the rainy weather had turned the day unexpectedly cool and it felt nice to be in the warm dim smial. “I don’t suppose you have any of that wonderful homebrew you brought up to Bag End a few weeks ago…?” the Gaffer chuckled and nodded, ambling over to a counter and drew out two mugs. Bilbo knew the Gaffer delighted in praise over his homebrew and he suspected they would need a steadying drink for the conversation to come.  
  
“I’m sorry I missed Hal,” Bilbo said, “the Widow said he left early this morning?”  
  
“Yessir, tis a long trip. It was nice to see the boy. I only wish he could stay longer. Has to be back at work tomorrow early. And he don’t like leaving his Opal. She’s with child again, did I tell you?”  
  
“I don’t think so. Congratulations,” Bilbo said as the Gaffer made his way over, handing him the beer.  
  
“Well sir, what brings you down to Number Three? Is Sam behaving hisself?” the Gaffer asked as he went back to the keg to draw himself a mug as well.  
  
“He always does, Master Hamfast,” Bilbo chuckled, “I wanted to discuss something with you, but I’m afraid it’s of a rather delicate nature.” The Gaffer turned and peered at him curiously but didn’t look the least worried, only sympathetic and he nodded.  
  
“Just let me send the girls to town then,” he said quietly. He hobbled back over to the low wooden chairs and put his frothing mug on the table as he called to May, Marigold and Daisy, who were sitting in their room. Bilbo watched as the Gaffer drew out a purse and counted out a copper coin for each girl.  
  
“Go into town for a bit. Me and the master have business to talk on,” he said, “Where’s Sam got to?” Bilbo blinked. He had forgotten Sam was probably around, being that he and Ham had today off as well.  
  
“Still watching the chimney to see if he can’t see smoke coming out where it ought not,” Daisy said. The Gaffer clicked his tongue in annoyance.  
  
“I told the boy it’s just a little leak,” he grumbled. “He’s a good lad, but he can be a bit of a- oh there you are Sam,” the Gaffer said, turning to see Sam enter the smial. Sam’s eyes went immediately to Bilbo and he froze in the doorway. Bilbo gave him an encouraging smile.  
  
“Hello Samwise,” Bilbo said warmly. Sam flushed and nodded a greeting.  
  
“Good afternoon Mr. Bilbo,” he said a little shakily.  
  
“Sam-lad go into town with your sisters for a bit,” the Gaffer said and pressed a coin into Sam’s hand too, “and bring me back some of that honey the Browntrees sell should you see any.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said and casting a last hope filled look Bilbo’s way, the boy turned and disappeared out the little round door, his sisters trailing after. The door closed and the Gaffer came back to the fire, sitting down across from Bilbo on the small bench near the fire crane.  
  
“This is good stuff,” Bilbo sighed, sipping the brew, “Absolutely top notch. I’m going to insist you enter a keg in fair this fall.”  
  
“'Tisn’t good enough to beat them Tooks, begging your pardon,” the Gaffer said scowling, “The Took brewmasters know their trade.”  
  
“Even Tooks can have bad years,” Bilbo pointed out, “And who better to brew beer than a gardener? You understand all the ingredients, even grow your own hops.” The Gaffer chuckled and looked keenly at Bilbo.  
  
“This must be serious for you to be going on so,” Ham said smiling a little, “You don’t usually beat around the bush, sir.”  
  
“Oh well,” Bilbo said a little sheepishly, “You know me far too well old friend.” He sipped again and gazed into the fire. He ought to start from the beginning he felt, for Ham ought to know as much as he did. “Do you remember that Brandybuck relation that came for tea at Bag End a few weeks ago?” Ham nodded slowly. There wasn’t much that happened at Bag End that Hamfast didn’t know of, even if he wasn’t there but four days a week now. “While we were visiting after tea, he told me that when Frodo was a tween he had been caught kissing a lad,” Bilbo said quietly, “I then learned that some of the Brandybucks were very hard on Frodo about it. The boy even got the idea that he was sent here because the family was ashamed of him.” He looked up and saw that Ham was frowning stonily as he sipped.  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ham said slowly, “Mr. Frodo is a good lad, and I don’t like to hear of anyone being unkind to him.”  
  
“Neither do I,” Bilbo said sighing, “Worse, he thought I would be upset with him when I learned of it. No wonder. His relations told him dreadful things. Apparently gave him the impression that he deserved to be disowned.”  
  
“Oh, but how could he think you'd feel like that?” Hamfast said gently, “We all know how you dote on him. Why, I’ll never forget that first winter when the lad come to live here and caught that fever. And you turned up on our door step in the middle of the night in a snow storm, more worried than I’ve ever see you.” Bilbo blinked at that. It had not been the middle of the night, only an hour past moon-rise and the snow storm had been only a light flurry of flakes that melted before they reached the ground. But the worried part…  
  
“I’d never cared for a sick child before,” Bilbo said thoughtfully.  
  
“And we were happy to help,” the Gaffer said, “Bell took Mr. Frodo in to her heart after that night I think.” He finished his mug, “Mr. Frodo ought to know you’d not be heeding some tween dalliance. 'Tis a silly thing to get upset on. Why my Sam even dallied with a lad, did you know?”  
  
“I did know,” Bilbo said.  
  
“Aye, there you have it,” the Gaffer said in reasoned tones, “'It's not anything to get upset over. Everyone knows lads do what lads do. They still find wives and all.”  
  
“I don’t think Frodo will,” Bilbo said quietly. Ham raised his eyebrows.  
  
“Of course he will,” he said kindly, “He’s a fine gentlehobbit. Surely the gentry wouldn’t hold sommat he done as a tween against him?” Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“No, I mean, I don’t think he’ll ever look to court a lass. Frodo prefers lads.” There was silence for a moment and Bilbo looked up to see Ham peering thoughtfully into the fire.  
  
“Well, some lads do,” he said at last.  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo breathed out and Ham looked at him.  
  
“Do it bother you, sir?” he asked softly.  
  
“No. It only bothers me that some will be unkind to him over it,” Bilbo said.  
  
“And if there are no children…?”  
  
“I never took Frodo as my heir with the expectation that he would produce children,” Bilbo said quietly, “When the time comes I suspect he will appoint an heir, much as I did. I see nothing wrong with that.”  
  
“Aye,” Ham agreed, “You would always stand by Mr. Frodo. As would the Gamgees, sir, if it comes to it.” Bilbo couldn’t help but smile.  
  
“That’s good to hear,” he said warmly.  
  
“Though, I might say, it will be harder, him being a gentlehobbit,” the Gaffer said slowly, “For if he wants to pair with a lad, well, they’ll all be land holders and needing to marry. It won’t be easy for him, begging pardon.”  
  
“No, it wouldn’t be easy in any case,” Bilbo said slowly, “but there is one that Frodo would like to court.”  
  
“I heard tell some gentlehobbits what prefer lads take wives but don’t visit the marriage bed but for making babes,” the Gaffer said. “So, maybe there’s some hope.” Bilbo noted the Gaffer had dropped his gaze.  
  
“Well, that’s true…”  
  
“What’s more, I’ve heard of Took lads pairing together and don’t bother with pretending. But that’s the Tooks, and nobody expects them to hold to any rules… A Took might be a good match for Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“The lad Frodo wants to court isn’t a gentlehobbit,” Bilbo said quietly, though he was almost positive Hamfast had caught on quite a while ago, the way he kept going on about gentlehobbits. Hamfast stilled and slowly turned to look at Bilbo.  
  
“Is that so,” he said at length.  
  
“Ham, you know what’s between them…” Bilbo said putting aside his mug, a little surprised they had arrived so quickly at the crux of the matter.  
  
“Aye, I’m not blind yet,” Hamfast retorted sharply then glanced up guiltily, “Begging your pardon.”  
  
“Oh don’t beg my pardon,” Bilbo said raising a hand, “This can’t be an easy thing. The lads know one another’s hearts, you see. But they’ll not act without both of our permissions.” Hamfast closed his eyes and passed a hand over his brow.  
  
“Well, it don’t seem my speeches about Sam keeping to his place did very much good,” he said ruefully. “T’wouldn’t do, sir, it’s too much a difference between them. And besides that I want Sam to marry.”  
  
“You said yourself that just because a lad trysts with another lad he may still marry later,” Bilbo said quietly and Ham gave him a skeptical look.  
  
“Aye, 'tis so with most lads, but most lads aren’t our lads,” Ham breathed, “All I can see come of it is Sam getting his heart broke. I cannot speak for Mr. Frodo, but my lad would take it hard I judge when it comes to an end. And then Mr. Frodo would be his master someday. Nay, it isn’t a good idea. Not at all.”  
  
“But they adore one another so,” Bilbo said feeling a little annoyed that he couldn’t call up any better reason than this. Ham looked at him, not unkindly, but with some doubt in his expression.  
  
“They’re also tweens, Mr. Bilbo,” Hamfast said gently.  
  
“Yes, but they are risking a great deal, pursuing this courtship,” Bilbo said, “and is it right to stop a tween from following his heart, if there is risk? How shall he ever learn otherwise?”  
  
“There’s letting them make mistakes and then there’s saving them from hurt and harm that would damage their future,” Hamfast said slowly, “And letting those two court would call down shame on both lads. Shame that t’would not be cast off, even were the courtship broken.”  
  
“Shame? But surely, you said that it is not a thing to be upset over, lads courting lads. If a few in town object, then I hardly think-”  
  
“It is against the law,” Hamfast said dryly. Bilbo blinked.  
  
“Is it then?” he asked.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo, you know Shire law better’n any I know of,” Ham growled softly. Bilbo only snorted.  
  
“Well, it’s a silly law. I’ll just have a talk with the shirriffs if there is any trouble and it will be overlooked I’m sure,” he said airily.  
  
“You have always done as you please, beg your pardon,” Ham said slowly, “But even if there is no trouble from the shirriffs then there is…” Ham looked very uncomfortable, “the matter of what folks might presume.”  
  
“Eh?” Bilbo asked, puzzled. Hamfast looked away, broodingly.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo, you’re not such an innocent that you don’t know of the kinds of service given in some of the grand country smials. And the price of that service,” Hamfast closed his eyes, “the servant come out with a ruined reputation, and no one will have them for marrying.”  
  
“Ham!” Bilbo cried, appalled. Hamfast lifted his eyes looking sorry.  
  
“I know it’s not that way between our lads,” he said, “But there are those as would think such, and it wouldn’t just ruin Sam, but Mr. Frodo too. I could not bear for such a thing to be so.” Bilbo sat a long moment in silence. He had not considered this point, and he felt a little shocked that he had overlooked something so potentially thorny. He had not cared a wit about what anyone said about him in fifty years or more, but this would be something beyond idle gossip. This could potentially make Frodo and Sam’s lives very complicated, should the village take it into their heads that Frodo was paying for or using his rank to claim Sam’s favors.  
  
“I think, Ham,” Bilbo said slowly, “I think that anyone who knows our boys could never believe such a thing. And those who would, already hold very low opinions of the Baggines. And besides, by doing this properly, out in the open as a courtship, I think it may seem more likely to the villagers that their relationship is born from amour, rather than service.”  
  
“Or it may be seen as a peculiar form of service,” Hamfast countered, but his expression had softened and Bilbo recognized that he was being teased.  
  
“Peculiarity from a Baggins,” he mused, “well, I will admit that is not hard to believe.”  
  
“Folk can be cruel about such things, even if they don’t half believe it,” Ham said quietly, “They like the gossip more than the truth. You of all people ought to know that.”  
  
“I do,” Bilbo said slowly, “But I think, Hamfast old friend, that if you and I together work at it, we can spare our lads that hardship. Between the two of us there is enough influence to sway opinion in favor of their pairing. Hobbits may gossip about me, but they know I am honest, I hope. Besides, everyone knows Sam is a sensible lad, not given to whimsy or depravity.” Bilbo paused a moment, “And Frodo’s fairly sensible and he’s certainly not depraved. Besides, if there is terrible gossip, I’ll just do what I’ve always done when I grow tired of the village discussing a matter; I do something more outrageous than I’ve done in a while and all talk moved on to my latest escapade.”  
  
“And what, Mr. Bilbo, could you do that is more outrageous than a gardener’s son courting the heir to the Hill?” he asked, eyebrows raised.  
  
“…Indoor plumbing?” Bilbo mused and chuckled, “I’ve been saving that notion to spring on the town.”  
  
“Oh Mr. Bilbo,” Hamfast snorted and laughed, “You do tickle me. Would you like another mug?” he asked.  
  
“I dare not, or I may not be able to get back up the hill. That’s strong stuff,” Bilbo said comfortably. He knew getting Ham to laugh was an encouraging sign, but did not take it for granted that Hamfast would set aside his concerns. There was Gamgee stubbornness to attend to, and Bilbo knew from long experience not to underestimate it.  
  
“Folk do set a store by Mr. Frodo,” Hamfast said thoughtfully, “For he’s always been kind and polite to the oldest gammar and the youngest babe.” Bilbo smiled as Ham took a breath, “I still don’t think this is a good idea, but I’ll not stop them. It seems the worst cheek on Sam’s part, yet if I’ve learned anything working for you Mr. Bilbo, it’s that I can trust you. You’ve always guided me well, and I hope that Mr. Frodo will guide my Sam just as true. I can only put me hope in that.” Bilbo stared at his gardener, feeling the unexpected pricking of tears behind his eyes. He sometimes forgot just how very fond of Ham he was.  
  
“Good old Ham,” he said smiling, very touched at Hamfast’s words. “Thank you. That is one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me. I shall not let you down.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Bilbo,” Ham said.  
  
“And as for Frodo,” Bilbo added, “He wants to come and ask you himself if he may court Sam. He thought that was proper.” He chuckled, “I told him I would break the idea to you. I thought the first shock of it ought to come from me. I have to admit, I did encourage the lads a bit.”  
  
“Oh, did you now?” Hamfast asked, not looking at all surprised. “Well, I would be pleased to have a talk with Mr. Frodo. More than pleased in fact.”  
  
“Tell me when you would like to meet him, for I know if I don’t have a set time the boy will race down here the moment I get back to Bag End. You know how the young are,” Bilbo said.  
  
“Don’t I know it too,” Ham chuckled, “Samwise will race off before I finish telling him all of what I want him to do, he gets so carried away. But I don’t see any reason for delay, not when the lads will be worrying on it and likely driving us up the smial walls for not having an answer,” he added in a low knowing voice. “Mr. Frodo is welcome to come down right away if he wishes. Might be better even, seeing as how  
everyone is still out.”  
  
“Too right,” Bilbo agreed and rose. “Very well. Thank you again, old friend.” The two old hobbits bid one another farewell and Bilbo went outside, glad to discover that the rain had in fact held off. He walked up the hill, whistling and feeling very pleased with himself, truth be told.

♦

  
Frodo drank two pots of tea while Bilbo was away. To his chagrin this did not calm him, only cause him to take an extended trip to the privy. As he buttoned his breeks and stepped out he heard the door close and lightening rushed up through his veins, compelling him down the hall, his heart beating wildly. He hurried into the kitchen and found Bilbo sitting down to the lunch Frodo had prepared; cucumber sandwiches, a hunk of sharp cheddar, pickles, and a bit of smoked fish. Bilbo looked delighted and was filling a plate when he caught sight of Frodo in the doorway.  
  
"Thank you, lad. This looks very nice. Do we still have any of the goat cheese? I’m partial to that on a bit of bread… and the fish will do nicely with that as well…” he looked hopefully at Frodo but Frodo only stared at him. Bilbo blinked and put his plate down. “Hamfast is somewhat amiable to the idea. Well, actually he thinks it’s not such a good idea, but he trusts my judgment and he likes you well enough. So he’s willing to let it go forward.”  
  
“Ohh,” Frodo sighed and sank into one of the breakfast chairs and set his elbows on the table, cradling his head. “I can’t believe it.”  
  
“I told you,” Bilbo said smugly, “You really don’t recall about the goat cheese?” With a laugh Frodo sprang up clasped Bilbo on the shoulder for a moment, then he darted off to the larder. When he returned he had two varieties of goat cheese wrapped in wax cloth and set them before the delighted Bilbo and found him a knife to spread the soft cheeses with.  
  
“How willing?” Frodo asked, a little doubt creeping into his voice, “Did he seem horrified, uncomfortable, or… er… unhappy….? And why didn’t he think it a good idea?” Bilbo paused, looking surprised.  
  
“Oh, you know Ham, he’s worried it might hurt you both, and there might be some gossip that wouldn’t be pleasant, but with my help and with Ham’s help we think we can handle that.” Bilbo slathered a rather large chunk of cheese onto the top of a cucumber sandwich and began stacking the smoked fish on top. Frodo watched this with amusement. “Oh, and Ham said it was alright if you want to ask him now.”  
  
“Now?” Frodo gasped.  
  
“I thought you would want to do it as soon as possible,” Bilbo said glancing at him.  
  
“I do,” Frodo said rising unsteadily. This all suddenly seemed far more real. “He’s expecting me?”  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo said and took a bite of his sandwich. Frodo didn’t bother to scold Bilbo for not telling him earlier and raced down the hall, grasping the front door.  
  
“Thank you Bilbo!” he called and sprang outside, walking quickly down the dirt path to the row. He did not let himself think about what he was doing, for if he did Frodo felt he might just be sick. He reached Number Three quicker than he could recall ever doing and knocked on the door softly. When there was no answer Frodo knocked again harder and heard movement from within. The door opened and Hamfast Gamgee stood surveying him. Frodo felt suddenly as if he were seventeen again, meeting the Gaffer for the first time. He pulled his hat off.  
  
“Good afternoon Mr. Gamgee,” he said.  
  
“Good afternoon Mr. Frodo,” the Gaffer said, inclining his head politely and stood back. “Would you like to come in, sir?” he asked.  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said, cap still in hand and stepped across the threshold. “I was wondering if I might speak with you.”  
  
“Of course you can. Would you like some tea?” the Gaffer asked. Frodo blanched a little at the thought of the two pots he had already consumed.  
  
“No thank you,” he said.  
  
“Well, have a seat then,” the Gaffer said and hobbled to his own seat at the fire and stirred the logs. “I’m sorry if it’s a bit hot in here sir. My joints were aching this morning and I’m trying to ease them.”  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Frodo said. “Perhaps I could get you some of the liniment Bilbo makes?”  
  
“That is kind of you sir, but he gave me some last week, in fact,” the Gaffer said, “Fine stuff, but this aching is from the weather change. T’will pass quickly.” He looked up at Frodo, not unkindly, but with expectation in his eyes, “But you didna come all the way down here to listen to me bellyache about me joints.”  
  
“No sir,” Frodo said, and to his shame felt his face flush, “You must pardon me, I’m afraid I’m a bit nervous, truth be told.”  
  
“There’s no need for that, Mr. Frodo,” Hamfast said and he smiled little, “It’s just old Hamfast you’re talking to. We used to talk, you and I, remember? When you would help me in the garden before Sam got old enough to come up the hill?” Frodo smiled at that. Yes, he had volunteered himself as assistant gardener, much to Hamfast’s bewilderment and Bilbo’s delight. Frodo had been so caught up in the freedom of Bag End that he delighted in toiling in the earth next to the old hobbit with a common accent. The tales of it reached Brandy Hall and horrified his elderly aunts, much to Frodo’s glee.  
  
“I do remember,” Frodo said, “Those were wonderful times. I’m sure I was a bother to you, but I did learn quite a bit and enjoyed myself more. I never properly thanked you for it.”  
  
“No need for thanks,” Hamfast said, “You were a good helper. I might have taken you as an apprentice, did you not become Mr. Bilbo’s heir.” He added with a chuckle. Frodo’s smile faded a little.  
  
“I suppose Bilbo’s explained the matter, but I wanted to come and talk with you myself. I’ve come to ask you if I might accept Sam’s favors. He has asked if he may court me, a proper courtship, you understand. And he asked if I would walk out with him tonight.”  
  
“Sam asked you did he?” Hamfast said frowning, “Pardon, but Mr. Bilbo didn’t tell me that.”  
  
“He has a perfect right to ask me,” Frodo said quietly, feeling worried at Ham’s cool tone. “Bilbo gave him permission to ask.”  
  
“But you didn’t say him aye?” Ham asked shrewdly. Frodo wove his fingers together, suddenly wishing he had a cup of tea to clasp.  
  
“No,” Frodo said, “I admit I had doubts about the arrangement, and I decided that I would give him no solid answer until I asked your permission.”  
  
“But you are asking my permission, so you’ve put aside your doubts then, sir?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said, gazing up, “If you give us permission then I would accept his attentions.”  
  
“… You don’t think you can do better than a gardener’s son?” Hamfast asked softly and Frodo stared, surprised.  
  
“I don’t seek any but a gardener’s son,” he said a little stiffly, despite his best effort. Ham sighed and Frodo continued, trying to warm his tone, “Sir, my doubts had nothing to do with your son’s position or any trait of his, truth be told. I was reluctant to court any lad and I was afraid for Sam’s reputation. I didn’t want to hurt his chances should he want to marry a lass in the future.”  
  
“You would let him marry a lass?” Hamfast asked raising his eyebrows.  
  
“Let?” Frodo stared, “I would never stop him from marrying.”  
  
“I know that, Mr. Frodo,” Hamfast said, his voice weary, “You are a good lad and I know you have only good intentions, but Sam is soft. He loves easy and he hurts easy and he don’t do things by halfs. He’ll swear himself to you before he’s even thought it though.” Frodo’s eyes widened and he found he didn’t have anything to say. Hamfast watched him and added, “Begging your pardon but you’re both very young to be doing things that will affect your lives so. You mustn’t bind him to you, or bind yourself to him. For even you don’t know what the future holds, Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Frodo said slowly, “But I do know that I won’t be able to break his heart. This is only a courtship that we are proposing, but should it deepen into something else, then I would not abandon him, Mr. Gamgee.”  
  
“Only let him abandon you, should Sam find a marriageable lass?” Ham asked, narrowing his eyes, “Ack, pardon me for saying so, but tweens are a bit dramatic, even you Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“Yes, even me,” Frodo agreed smiling slightly. “I am well aware that there are more chances that this will end in a mess than chances that all will come well, but I can’t help but try for those narrow chances of fortune.” Ham crossed his arms and nodded slowly.  
  
“It’s as I told your uncle. I don’t think it’s a good idea and it makes me uneasy, it does. Sam getting above hisself unsettles me, and you sir, not meaning any disrespect, but you are a Baggins, and a Baggins very much like your uncle, and that brings with it some uncertainty, some mischief even. No, it don’t sit right, and I shan't be happy about it, as fond of you as I am, Mr. Frodo. Not till I see that no harm comes of it.” Frodo sat stock still listening and feeling very foolish, but more so because Hamfast’s words all rang true to him and spoke of a father’s concern. “That said,” Hamfast continued, “I’ll not stop the pair of you. You have my permission for the courtship. For I trust Mr. Bilbo and his judgment, and I trust you, sir. I have trusted you with my lad for many years now, and I hope that you will not lead him astray.”  
  
“I won’t,” Frodo breathed out, “I won’t let any harm come to him and if there are consequences,” He took a breath, feeling flushed, “then I will do everything in my power to stop them falling on Sam.” Hamfast nodded and stood stiffly and Frodo rose as well. Hamfast held out his hand and Frodo took it, shaking the older hobbit’s hand, looking him in the eye. “Thank you, Mr. Gamgee,” he said quietly.  
  
“I shouldn’t like for anything hard to fall on you either sir,” Hamfast said. “Mr. Bilbo seems to think he can work his ways on folks and no ill will touch the pair of you.”  
  
“I’ve learned that Bilbo usually knows what he’s about, even if it seems impossible,” Frodo said smiling and drew his hand away.  
  
“Oh yes sir. I’ve learned that as well,” Hamfast said. “You said as you were walking out with Sam tonight?”  
  
“Yes sir. The Green Dragon,” Frodo answered feeling a blush creep back into his cheeks. The Gaffer nodded.  
  
“He ought to be back before too long. I’ll just send him up the Hill a bit before sunset, if that suits you,” Hamfast said. “Traditional walking out time, you know.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Though I’m thinking the pub is not a usual walking out destination,” the Gaffer chuckled and Frodo smiled.  
  
“Usual doesn’t exactly describe our situation,” he said. Hamfast considered this, frowning.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” he asked, “One more thing.”  
  
“Yes sir?” Frodo asked. The Gaffer looked distinctly uncomfortable suddenly but squared his shoulders, though he stared at the wall behind Frodo.  
  
“I don’t presume to know… that is, to know how familiar you are with the ways of coupling lads, but I would look well on it if before this proceeds to that point, you have a talk with… well, Mr. Bilbo ought to be able to give you some warnings.” Frodo felt his face go a deep red, but was mollified slightly by the fact that the Gaffer was blushing just as hard.  
  
“Sir…?” he squeaked.  
  
“It will save the pair of you a great deal of hardship if at least one of you knows aught what you’re doing.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“Well then,” the Gaffer said looking up again. “I’ll not take up anymore of your time.”  
  
“Thank you for seeing me Mr. Gamgee,” Frodo said sincerely, “And thank you for trusting me. I won’t let you down.” Hamfast nodded and Frodo turned. “You needn’t see me out, sir, rest your joints.”  
  
“That’s kind of you. Good day, sir,” Hamfast said, sitting back down.  
  
“Good day,” Frodo said and opened the door, going out.  
  
He walked numbly up the hill, staring out across the country, watching a hobbit heard sheep through one of the far pastures. It wasn’t until Frodo had reached the wooden gate of Bag End that he stopped and caught his breath.  
  
“Did Hamfast Gamgee just give me permission to lay with his son?” Frodo murmured very quietly to himself. “… I do believe he did.” _Steady on then,_ he thought. Frodo cleared his throat and busied himself by checking the post box. Tonight he could tell Sam. Tonight their courtship would start in earnest. Frodo felt the familiar giddiness come over him again and he smiled. If he were courting Sam as well, then perhaps he ought to try and catch up and find some present or trinket for him. It ought to be something special, handmade if possible, though there was little time. Frodo wandered back up the steps to the green door pondering the possibilities.

♦

  
Samwise wandered the lanes of Hobbiton, feeling as if his head had floated away. The Gaffer was going to twist his ears off or take a strap to him, though he hadn’t done that in years, and that was just for letting Mr. Bilbo do the talking for him. Sam should have realized it would look as if he were hiding the courtship from his dad, and maybe he had, but he had been so focused on Frodo; and Mr. Bilbo had said so calmly that he would handle everything… It certainly wasn’t the first time a Baggins had made him forget his wits and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last.  
  
“Aye well, you’ve put it off long enough Sam,” he mumbled to himself and looked at the fading afternoon light overhead. He found the Gamgee sister crowded together with a gang of lasses who cast shy looks his way as Sam approached. Despite himself Sam flushed at their giggles as he tugged at Daisy’s sleeve.  
  
“I’m going back,” he said. Daisy raised her eyebrows and pulled her sleeve away.  
  
“Well go on then,” she said. Sam frowned.  
  
“You need to start supper,” he said. Daisy rounded on him and Sam immediately shut his mouth and took a step back, regretting his words. Daisy had a sharp tongue and it wasn’t wise to provoke her, especially when she had an audience.  
  
“Don’t you be telling me when to start supper, lad,” she snapped, “Lest you want me telling you when to hoe the taters. Be off with you! You can walk back to Number Three without your big sister then can’t you?” Sam straightened his shoulders and scowled.  
  
“You don’t have to bark at me!” he said and turned hastily to the lane, “See you later then.”   
  
“Did you get da’s honey?” Marigold called after him. Sam cast a look over his shoulder, still frowning, but he knew Marigold was trying to soften Daisy’s words. Marigold had always had a soft spot for her brother. Never the less, Sam was not in a good mood.  
  
“Aye. I’m not a halfwit,” he grumbled. There were some amused titterings among the girls.  
  
“Nay? I've heard more than one call you Half-wise Gamgee!” Dandy Brokenboring called. Sam hadn’t seen her and he didn’t want to talk to her, but inside he fumed. Of all the hobbits in Hobbiton to be called half wise by! Dandy Brokenboring, the same lass who thought tomatoes could grow in the shade…  
  
“Good afternoon girls,” he said and walked quickly away, hoping his voice had sounded stiff enough to keep anyone else from calling out to him. At the moment Sam felt like snapping out a hard word to anyone who crossed his path; though he knew his Gamgee manners would prevent it.  
  
He walked back quickly and found himself on the row before he quite realized he had arrived. He was not looking forward to the Gaffer’s reaction. At least the girls weren’t here. Having the Gaffer cast angry mysterious looks at him while he stewed in the girl’s presence would have been even worse, for when the Gaffer couldn’t speak freely he only got angrier, until he barked at Sam to step outside with him and they took one of those long horrible walks. At least maybe the Gaffer could get it out of his system right away…  
  
With a heavy sigh Sam opened the door to Number Three and stepped inside, pulling his cap off and hung it by the door. The smial was unexpectedly warm, and he saw that the Gaffer had kept the fire going. _His joints must still be aching then,_ Sam thought. He glance over and saw the Gaffer seated by the fire, watching him.  
  
“Hello lad,” the Gaffer said as Sam moved into the main room and went to the fire crane, where the kettle steamed, and pulled it off, taking it to the kitchen bench.  
  
“Hello, da,” he said and went on quickly, “I’m sorry I didna tell you sooner. Only it wasn’t anything sure and Mr. Bilbo said-”  
  
“Don’t be talking on the master,” the Gaffer scowled and Sam closed his mouth, feeling miserable. He turned and busily measured out tea leaf and put it in the strainer perched over the opening in the teapot. The Gaffer studied his son, frowning, “You forget the honey?” he asked. Sam blinked and reached into his pocket, drawing out the small stoppered glass jar.  
  
“They only had the tea service jars left,” Sam said, “Miss Browntree said she’d be harvesting again soon though and we can get a proper jar then.” The Gaffer brightened at the appearance of the honey.  
  
“Would you make me some honey tea before you go lad?” the Gaffer asked. Sam paused as he poured the kettle water into the tea pot.  
  
“Go?” he asked dumbly. The Gaffer sent him a frown.  
  
“Mr. Frodo will be expecting you. I told him you’d be up a bit afore sunset. That’s nigh.” Sam felt his heart stop and he clutched the counter trying to take in what his father had just said. He carefully put the hot kettle down and stared at the Gaffer.  
  
“Mr. Frodo was here?” he gasped, “And… and…”  
  
“Samwise don’t babble,” the Gaffer growled, “Yes, Mr. Frodo and I had a talk and that was after I talked to Mr. Bilbo so I’m just a bit tired of talking and I’m wanting to take a nap afore the girls get home and start in on supper. You and I will discuss this courtship business another time, _make no mistake_ ,” he said with an edge in his voice, “But for right now, I’ll settle for honey tea and a bit of peace.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam breathed. An hour before sunset… He ought to be going then. He desperately wanted to ask if the Gaffer had given them permission, for Sam liked to know things said out plainly, but he didn’t want to push his dad right now, and by all indications, if he was letting Sam go out then… Well, he could always ask Frodo, or Mr. Bilbo for that matter, what his father had said… Sam tried to breathe normally, but his heart was racing as he spooned the honey into the cup he had originally meant for himself and waited for the tea to steep. He glanced at his father, whose eyes were closed and sighed. After a few minutes, he gingerly poured a little of the tea into the cup and decided the color meant it had done steeping and stirred as he added more tea. Quietly he took it to his father.  
  
“Here you are, sir,” he said.  
  
“Thank you, Samwise,” the Gaffer said, opening his eyes and took the cup into his wrinkled hands. Sam watched his father and felt suddenly very grateful. He had no doubt there would be some hard words, but his father was not angry, that much was obvious. Hamfast looked up at his son and his brow wrinkled.  
  
“What?” he grumbled.  
  
“Da,” Sam said, and didn’t know what else to say, only smiled helplessly.  
  
“Lad, some days I really think you are a halfwit,” the Gaffer growled, “Did I not say you’re expected at Bag End? You’re going to be late.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam straightened and went quickly to the door. The Gaffer sat up suddenly and scowled mightily.  
  
“You mind your manners,” he said sharply. Sam turned, surprised.  
  
“Yes, sir. Of course,” he said.  
  
“Do not be too forward,” the Gaffer said, narrowing his eyes. Sam choked.  
  
“No, da,” he agreed. The Gaffer sat back and sighed.  
  
“… And be careful,” he said quietly. Sam stopped and stared. The Gaffer met his eyes and continued in the same quiet tone, “Don’t let him charm you out of your britches first thing.” Sam dropped his eyes and flushed.  
  
“He’s a gentlehobbit, da,” he said softly. He heard the Gaffer snort softly.  
  
“We’ll see at that, won’t we,” the Gaffer mumbled.  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said and met his father’s eyes again. He took a breath and said, “Rest well.” The Gaffer nodded and sipped his tea. Sam found his coat and hat, checked the pockets to make sure he still had a few coins and went out quickly before he thought too much about what he was about to do. He closed the door to Number Three and let out a breath. _Well, that was an experience,_ he thought grimly.  
  
He ducked into the side garden and quickly surveyed the flowers in bloom. He had already done irises and tulips. Maybe something new? He winced at his remaining choices of daffodils, geranium and some of the blooming herbs. Quickly, he bent and plucked two variegated tulips and a fern stalk and tied them together. The tulip might be a repeat, but he couldn't resist the striped ones. Striped tulips for beautiful eyes. He glowed in pleasure at the thought of pressing the flower into Frodo's hands. He slipped the flowers into his jacket pocket and proceeded to the lane.  
  
Sam walked down the lane and started the climb up the hill, pondering the evening ahead. A lad had to do things on a proper walking out occasion, but Sam couldn’t think of any of the customs that seemed right. He recalled vaguely his sisters hissing at him that on the first walking out he had to walk apart from the lass and only hold her hand if there was rough ground and something about lasses doing their flirting with fans. Second time he was allowed to hold her hand and maybe even a peck on the cheek. Well, he and Frodo had already moved beyond that. Never mind custom, what did Frodo expect of him? Sam felt slightly queasy and wished he had asked Hal about it.  
  
“Sam!” a voice called and Sam gasped in statement for before him on the path was Frodo. Frodo walked the distance, shoving his hands in his pockets, smiling nervously.  
  
“Mr. Frodo, good evening. I’m late aren’t I? I’m sorry,” he said. Frodo darted a glance at him and shook his head.  
  
“No, no, I was… Fidgeting so I decided to start walking down… I ought to have stayed, I didn’t mean for you to think… This just makes me look a fool, doesn’t it?" he laughed ruefully, “I’m sorry Samwise.”  
  
“No need,” Sam smiled, feeling a little bolstered by the fact that Frodo seemed just as nervous as he was. They met each other’s eyes for a moment and smiled. “What an interesting afternoon you must have had,” he said softly. Frodo’s face dissolved into a relaxed grin.  
  
“Oh Sam, how true,” he laughed and reached for Sam’s arm, tucking his own around it. Sam recalled Frodo had done the exact same thing days ago, when they had walked to the farms, but then Frodo had done it out of companionship. It still felt like companionship, Sam reflected as they moved down the path, but there was something else now too, bubbling just under the surface.  
  
“Da didn’t say much to me,” Sam said quietly, “But it seemed like he give us permission?” Frodo nodded slightly, his eyes looking out in front, examining the trees along the path.  
  
“He did,” Frodo said just as quietly, “He’s very concerned for you and he seemed unhappy about what we’re risking. But he also said that he trusts Bilbo and… trusts me, though I wonder if he wasn’t just saying that to be polite.”  
  
“Da likes you,” Sam murmured.  
  
“Yes, but he’s wary of me too,” Frodo said, “he left me in little doubt that his permission was due to Bilbo’s persuasion. I suppose we ought to thank the old hobbit somehow.”  
  
“We can do that,” Sam said relaxing a little. “Do you think the pub will be crowded tonight?” There was no reason to ask, Sam knew just as well as Frodo knew the ways of the pub, but Sam was suddenly tired of talking about the negotiations with his father.  
  
“Oh some for dinner I should think,” Frodo said breezily, “But I shouldn’t expect a crowd, it being a work day tomorrow.”  
  
“You’re right there, for even those fond of old Warren’s brew won’t like meeting the morning with an aching head.”  
  
“Too true,” Frodo commented softly. It seemed the plain talk was soothing to Frodo too so Sam went on to talk about the spring harvest and the flower festival that would be held in the next week and how his mates wouldn’t let him alone about the meanings of flowers.  
  
“I tell them every year the flower language, but they can’t keep it straight,” Sam laughed, “Last year Hob gave his lass amaryllis and lime blossom and could not understand why she slapped him.” Frodo chuckled.  
  
“I’m afraid it’s been many years since I tried composing a flower message. What did poor Hob’s flowers mean?” Sam cleared his throat.  
  
“Amaryllis is pride and lime blossom is… ah…” he frowned trying to find a polite way to phrase it.  
  
“Oh, something vulgar?” Frodo asked intrigued.  
  
“Miss Ivy thought so,” Sam said smiling. “Oh, here,” he drew away and opened his coat and took out the tulips and the fern stalk and presented them to Frodo. To his pleasure Frodo flushed and unlike the other times he'd received flowers, Frodo looked happy to take them.  
  
“These are so pretty,” he said and ran his fingers along their stems, coming to the fern stalk. “And the fern?” he asked. Sam blinked. _Fern for magic._  
  
“It looks nice when you put it in a vase,” he said, losing his nerve. Frodo peered at him.  
  
“So it does,” he said. There was silence for a moment, then Frodo took his hand again, and leaned close, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Sam,” he said. “Do you think you’ll wear a flower for the festival?”  
  
“I suppose I will,” Sam answered. Most hobbits did wear a flower or a flower pair pinned to their coat, even if they weren’t courting. The messages ranged from statements of occupation, for those who were unimaginative, to those who picked flowers attached to no particular message but chose their blossoms for looks instead. Sam recalled one year Frodo had worn a striped carnation, which was a traditional rejection flower and he had spent the festival glowering at his suitors who were stubbornly ignoring the message. That was before the gentlehobbit lasses of the West Farthing had given him up as a lost cause.  
  
“Though I usually wear oak leaf and olive leaf. Tis not so pretty as a flower, but it suits me. And the Gaffer says a lad ought not wear blossoms. Or, rather, I ought not wear blossoms.”  
  
“Oh?” Frodo asked, his brow wrinkling. Sam ducked his head.  
  
“I dunno,” he mumbled. Frodo was quiet a moment.  
  
“Well, if we’re courting, then we choose flower pairings for one another, isn’t that right?” Frodo asked quietly, "unless you would rather not wear blossoms?"  
  
“No, I'll wear blossoms. I don't heed all the Gaffer tells me,” Sam said, casting his eyes down. “I can help you pick, if you like.”  
  
“You already help half the lads in the farthing it sounds like,” Frodo laughed, “No, I think Bilbo has a book on it somewhere. Besides, it’s supposed to be a surprise.” Sam smiled bashfully and felt a shiver go up his spine.  
  
“That’s right,” he said. They walked along in contented silence for a few minutes until Sam heard voices carrying on the wind ahead. He strained his ears and caught the sound of his sister’s voices and the voices of the Twofoots, on their way back from Hobbiton.  
  
“Should I let go of your arm?” Frodo asked softly.  
  
“No,” Sam said at once and though Frodo only nodded slightly Sam thought he saw worry settle in his eyes. The girls came over the hill and cast curious looks at Sam and Frodo. Frodo still clutched the tulips in his free hand, and made no move to hide them in his coat.  
  
“Good evening, Mr. Frodo, hullo Sam,” May said and nodded politely.  
  
“Good evening girls,” Frodo said.  
  
“Going back to town?” Daisy asked quietly fixing her brother with a keen look.  
  
“Yes Daisy, you needn’t expect me for supper,” Sam said. The Twofoot girls hung back shyly and gazed at Frodo, murmuring their own greetings to the master, which Frodo returned politely.  
  
“We’ll not keep you then,” Marigold said and tugged at May’s hand, “Come on, da won’t like it if we dawdle. Good evening Mr. Frodo. You and Sam have a nice dinner.”  
  
“Thank you, we will,” Frodo said.

♦

  
Sam wasn’t sure what he had expected. The Green Dragon was as it always was, though it was as predicted, a slow night. He and Frodo took a table in the back, but even that wasn’t terribly unusual. The serving lass brought them a pitcher of beer and a loaf of brown bread and butter at Frodo’s request. Sam perked up at the beer and Frodo smiled, his eyes twinkling. Dinner was smelt, fried and breaded served with potatoes and mushrooms. They tucked in, and Sam found he was unexpectedly hungry.  
  
“Goody Warren is a wonderful cook,” Frodo said, closing his eyes as he savored the fish. “Bilbo told me once that he had been seriously tempted to court her, back when she was young Petunia Brockhouse.”  
  
“For her cooking?” Sam asked curiously. He had never heard anything about the old master courting. Granted, his courting days had been long before even Frodo had been born. Frodo flashed him an amused look, his smile slightly sly.  
  
“Among other traits,” he confided, “Apparently she was a great beauty.” Sam smiled, and returned to his dinner. “This really isn’t so different, is it?” Frodo asked softly. Sam looked up, his brow wrinkling. Frodo met his eye and gave a quick smile, “I mean, sitting here and eating and talking. We did the same last night. And yet...”  
  
“Aye, but it’s not the same as last night,” Sam chuckled. Frodo nodded.  
  
“True," he murmured. He paused a moment, then added, "I suppose we should decide how we’re going to do this courtship. We can’t follow all the customs of lads and lasses. I shouldn’t like it if you treated me like a lass, and I shouldn’t think you would like it if I did the same to you.” Sam frowned.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked quietly, “Does that mean you don’t want me to bring you flowers?” Frodo looked up and reached across the table to take his hand briefly.  
  
“No,” he said, “That’s not what I meant… You’re a gardener. I couldn’t turn away your flowers.” He smiled and slid his hand away but his expression was warm, “In fact, I adore your flowers.” Sam felt himself flush in pleasure. “No, I’m speaking of the chaperoned visits that must occur in the lady’s home, the rules about dancing and being coy. And I hope I shant have to give you my card to let you know you are welcome to call on me.”  
  
“You have cards?” Sam asked. Frodo shrugged.  
  
“Most gentlehobbits do,” he said.  
  
“Well, that all sounds like gentlehobbit courting anyhow,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t know any other way to court,” Frodo sighed, “We’re crossing several barriers here, and I don’t know of any proper models that we can follow.”  
  
“Then I suppose we’ll make our own way,” Sam said, “Like we’ve always done.” Frodo met his eyes and they watched one another for a long moment. “We never made it official, did we?” Sam asked.  
  
“No?” Frodo asked. Sam shook his head.  
  
“Nay, you just said me da gave you permission,” Sam said. “So, then, seeing as how we have permissions of both my dad and your Mr. Bilbo, and seeing as how we know each other’s minds,” he took a deep breath, “Will you let me court you, Frodo Baggins?” A slow smile spread over Frodo’s face as Sam spoke.  
  
“Yes Samwise Gamgee, I will, if you in turn will allow me to court you,” he said and covered Sam’s hand with his own once more. Sam turned his hand and clasped Frodo’s cool fingers.  
  
“Yes I will,” Sam said.  
  
“I can’t tell you how charming you look right now,” Frodo murmured in a low voice, “I dearly want to give you a kiss, but I think we should save that for when we have a bit more privacy.” Sam nodded, feeling his throat too tight for words. Gently, he withdrew his hand.  
  
“I’d like that,” Sam sighed, “Maybe, if it’s not too late when we leave the pub, we could stroll out on the long road back to Overhill. It’s pretty this time of year, even by starlight.”  
  
“Old Warren might lend us a lantern,” Frodo mused, looking dreamy, “He’s decided that I’m entirely unpractical so it won’t surprise him that I didn’t think to bring my own.” Sam chuckled and was about to add that it was nearly a full moon tonight so they might not even need the lantern when he heard someone call his name. He turned and saw at the pub counter Tom Cotton and Ponto Brown, who was newly come to Hobbiton with his bride Lily, one of Sam’s first cousins on the Goodchild side. They had spotted him and Tom raised a hand in greeting.  
  
“Hello Sam, good evening Mr. Frodo,” Tom said, moving closer to join them. Ponto trailed along behind him.  
  
“Good evening,” Frodo said smoothly, “How are you both? How is the wheat crop coming along Tom?”  
  
“Very well, sir. Ought to have a good crop come autumn if the weather holds,” Tom said, “And how is Mr. Bilbo? I saw him at market last week but didn’t get a chance to talk to him.”  
  
“He’s well,” Frodo said, “There are times I wonder if he will outlive us all.” Tom chuckled at this and Ponto moved closer, peering shyly at Frodo.  
  
“Hello Ponto, did you get moved in alright?” Frodo asked kindly. Ponto nodded.  
  
“Yes sir. Lily has the hole looking mighty fine now. I sure do appreciate you arranging it with Mr. Boffin, sir.”  
  
“Bilbo did most of the arranging, but I will pass along that you are getting settled. He’ll like to know that.”  
  
“Thank you sir,” Ponto said.  
  
“Well, we’ll not interrupt your meal, Mr. Frodo,” Tom said and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“Join us later if you like Sam,” he said, “Tim Foxburr is come up from the South Farthing to visit his uncle and he’s meeting us in a bit. Might have tidings from Tighfield.”  
  
“Oh another time. Tell Tim I said hello,” Sam said looking up at Tom. Tom nodded easily and stepped back but Sam caught sight of a scowl from Ponto.  
  
“Good evening, sir. Stay well,” Tom said nodding and went back to the counter to get his drink, Ponto trailing after him.  
  
“Thank you, have a good night,” Frodo answered. Sam turned back to see Frodo watching the pair then his eyes shifted back to Sam. “I’m sorry you’ll miss your friend,” Frodo said, “Especially if he has news of your brother and uncle.”  
  
“Oh, never mind about it,” Sam said looking down at his plate, “They’ll both visit come the lithe market. Uncle Andy always comes to Hobbiton for that.”  
  
“I do recall meeting him once at the market,” Frodo nodded and smiled ruefully, “I think we scandalized poor Ponto. I don’t think he thought we ought to be eating together.”  
  
“Ponto is a silly lad,” Sam said scornfully, “He thinks Tom ought not talk so friendly to you either. Comes of having a hard master back in Waymeet and the way he was raised.”  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope he’ll have a better opinion of Bilbo and old Rollo Boffin.”  
  
“He will in time,” Sam assured.  
  
“I don’t want to come between you and your friends,” Frodo murmured. “But I know I will. They’ll think it’s strange you turned them down…”  
  
“Tom won’t, and let me deal with them,” Sam said softly.  
  
“I have to,” Frodo sighed, “I can’t think of any way that I can make it easier for you. Anything I do to interfere will only cause you more trouble I think.”  
  
“Now, now,” Sam sighed gazing across the table at him, “don’t look for trouble afore it comes. I can’t see my friends doing anything but teasing me a bit for courting you. They’re not unkind lads.” He paused a moment and studied Frodo’s still troubled expression, “Think about your friends, young master Merry and Mr. Fatty. You’re very close with them; do you think they’ll treat you badly for courting a gardener?” Frodo considered this.  
  
“Not those two. But then, if I killed someone I don’t doubt that they would help me hide the body.” Sam snorted and hid his smile in his beer glass. Frodo fixed him with a wicked look. “It’s worth remembering them if you ever do succeed in poisoning someone.”  
  
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam coughed and tried not to choke on his drink. Frodo grinned and took up his own mug.  
  
The left the pub about an hour later and strolled along the road murmuring to one another in the still night air. The moon had risen and, as Sam predicted, was strong enough to see by. He felt happy; full of food and the pleasant warmth of a mug of beer. Frodo walked beside him, seemingly as charmed by Sam’s presence as Sam was charmed by his.  
  
As they moved away from the village and into the tree lined lanes, a seldom used path that ran along the field creek, Sam felt bold enough to reach out and clasp Frodo’s hand. Frodo turned slightly and cast a smile at him before looking back to the path.  
  
“You said that we would find our own way,” Frodo said quietly. “How do we want to go about this?” Sam felt heat creeping into his cheeks and a finger of desire run up his spine. He scolded himself for this and tried to rally his wits.  
  
“Well, I think we’ve made a good start,” Sam offered. Frodo hummed in agreement.  
  
“Yes, I think so too,” Frodo murmured, “I would say for us to continue and do what comes naturally, but this is so important to me. I don’t want to misstep.” He sighed and continued, “I know we’ve said that we don’t want to abide by the customs of lads and lasses, especially gentlehobbit lads and lasses with all the imposed restrictions… but neither do I want this to be,” he stopped and even in the moonlight Sam could see his frown as Frodo worked out his thoughts. He went on in a low voice, “… I don’t want it to be like lads who go behind the shed with their mates whenever the urge takes them.” Sam blushed, even though he had done just that on several occasions in the past.  
  
“No,” he said quietly, “I don’t think either of us would think on it so carelessly. And anyway, we’d not…”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to touch you,” Frodo murmured and Sam caught his breath.  
  
“I know,” he managed, though he perhaps hadn’t know that, not really. All he knew was that Frodo had enjoyed his kiss the other day and had called him handsome.  
  
“Courting is supposed to be for the pair to get to know one another, but we already know one another,” Frodo said, “though, there are things we didn’t talk on in the past.”  
  
“Well we could talk on those things when we take our walks,” Sam suggested, “and… and maybe kiss a bit,” he added shyly. Frodo chuckled softly and slowed, turning to Sam.  
  
“Are you hinting…?” he asked.  
  
“You did say in the pub you wanted to kiss me,” Sam said and felt the same hot bubble of anticipation coil in his belly as Frodo stepped closer, the both of them halting.  
  
“So I did,” he said and wrapped an arm around Sam’s back. He tilted his head a bit and asked, “if I may?”  
  
“Aye,” Sam murmured as Frodo leaned in to press their mouths together. Sam drew in a quick breath and eagerly tilted his head to let their lips join and open to the kiss. He felt Frodo’s body shift against his own and a soft murmur of peace came from Frodo as Sam put his arms around him.  
  
This all felt very nice and Sam was enjoying it immensely but he could feel the throb starting to burn in his cock and he didn’t want Frodo to know how he was being affected. Sam had always been quick to rise, and though he suspected it was probably at least in part due to his youth, he still felt guilty and sly when it happened. It had happened when Frodo kissed him in the spring house and it was happening now. At least on that occasion they hadn’t been standing so close together and they had parted company soon after. Sam had run down to the creek for a quick cool down before he went back to Number Three. That night, when he had the time and privacy he had thought about pressing Frodo’s hand to his prong, making him squeeze and rub…  
  
“Mmph,” Sam moaned into the kiss and pulled back in shame. Frodo was blinking at him in the dim light, looking slightly startled.  
  
“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  
  
“No, no, t’were me,” Sam said, flushing hard, “I got carried away.” Frodo gazed at him a moment, a smile threatening. “I didn’t mean make a sound like that,” Sam added, hoping Frodo wouldn’t guess how hard he was. He was sure he would die where he stood should Frodo look down and see his condition. Frodo was, however too polite to be so obvious. Instead he smiled lightly and put his hands on Sam’s shoulders, gazing at him happily.  
  
“Don’t look so shame faced,” he murmured, “It’s just me, you know. Besides,” he shifted his gaze to the sky beyond, “Besides, I take it as the highest compliment that you should get carried away kissing me. It makes me feel as if I’m not a duffer after all.”  
  
“You’re not a duffer,” Sam insisted, “That’s daft-talk.” Frodo’s fingers found his cheek and stroked there gently for a moment, his eyes focusing on Sam again.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, his tone quiet and sincere. Sam reached up and covered his hand, staring back thinking, _oh but I love him_.  
  
“Shall we walk on a bit more?” Frodo asked quietly.  
  
“Yes,” Sam answered and they withdrew from one another.  
  
“So, what are some of those things we didn’t talk on in the past?” Frodo murmured. “… Our old affairs?” he asked in a low hesitant voice. Sam stared out across the moonlit countryside and cleared his throat.  
  
“Er, well, I suppose,” he said softly, “we’ll talk on that I’m sure, but I don’t know I want to hear about your lad, at least not right now.” He shoved his hands in his pockets bashfully, aware that Frodo might not like to hear this, “I should feel a bit jealous.” But Frodo only hummed sympathetically and slipped his arm back around Sam’s elbow.  
  
“Oh, you needn’t feel that way,” he said, “But I understand. I’m not sure that I want to hear all your tales of conquest with the lasses or,” he paused, “of the lads. I know you are quite popular.” Sam blushed hard and laughed.  
  
“I’m hardly that,” he gasped. Frodo shook his head.  
  
“I don’t hear all the gossip, but town hobbits don’t hold back on admiring you in my presence.”  
  
“Oh lor',” Sam groaned, “Don’t listen to all that nonsense from the gammars. They only say those things on account of my splitting wood for them or weeding their front stoops.”  
  
“T’wasn’t gammars I was speaking on,” Frodo said softly, and tightened his grip. “You turn many heads.” Sam swallowed nervously and found Frodo’s hand with his own.  
  
“Well, still 'tis nonsense,” he grumbled, “And your’s is the only head I’m set on turning.”  
  
“You have,” Frodo murmured in the night air, “I mean that. Even before all this, I knew you were handsome and kind.” He laughed softly, “I remember thinking once, ‘whatever lass Samwise takes as his wife will be a lucky one, for here is a good hobbit, sweet tempered and wise in his way, with a loyal and true soul.”  
  
“Oh sir,” Sam sighed and chafed Frodo’s fingers.  
  
“I’ve thought long on you these past few days,” Frodo continued in a quiet voice, “There was a part of me that knew you weren’t a child, part of me saw how fine you were growing. I didn’t like to think on it, because I might start admiring you in a way that I thought I shouldn’t. But that didn’t keep me from looking at you sometimes.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said feeling warm and pleased, thought Frodo seemed embarrassed by this admission, “I looked on you some too,” Sam said gently, “I hoped you wouldn’t mind it.”  
  
“I don’t mind it,” Frodo murmured, “Though, I don’t know what you see. Funny colored eyes and gaped teeth.”  
  
“I like your eyes,” Sam said vehemently, “and your teeth.” Frodo cast a warm look toward him.  
  
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m not courting you because you are close and convenient and for some unfathomable reason asked me in the first place… I’m not even doing it because I think you’re handsome and good,” Frodo paused, “it’s because you’re so very dear to me and I trust you, and I think it’s also that you make me feel such a strong sense of home. And,” he sighed, “I see those feelings mirrored in your face. Or am I wrong?”  
  
“No, you’re not wrong,” Sam said feeling his heart pierced. “That’s it exactly. I feel right when I’m with you, when it’s just the two of us especially, and we’re relaxed and talking on tales or gossip or the garden, or not even talking at all. Just being together, and knowing that we don’t have to talk, that just being with each other is pleasant all by itself.” Frodo laughed softly and Sam thought suddenly that it was a beautiful intimate sound, though he had heard Frodo laugh like that nearly his whole life.  
  
“You put things so nicely,” he said.  
  
“And so do you,” Sam said smiling up at the stars. “Oh but I feel so happy,” he added. He felt Frodo tug them to a halt and cast a curious look at him.  
  
“We’re almost back, the Hill is just around that bend,” Frodo murmured and Sam felt his cheeks go hot just that quick.  
  
“Aye…” he agreed and with amusement he noted that Frodo’s eyes darted down in shyness.  
  
“There’s something I want to give you, before we get back,” he said quietly and reached into his coat pocket drawing out a small lacquered box, so small that it fit in the palm of his hand. Sam stared at the shining finish, which was catching the moonlight and gently took it, as Frodo pressed it into his hands.  
  
“This is beautiful,” he murmured.  
  
“Open it,” Frodo said quietly. Sam slipped the fitted lid off and found inside a folded paper object. He gingerly picked it up and held it close to study it. It looked like the tiniest bird he had ever seen. Along the sides he could see where Frodo had used inks to draw intricate feathers and patterns along the bird’s body and in its face were set two golden eyes.  
  
“Bilbo taught me how to make the bird. He said the Lake men and women had an art of folding paper into birds and frogs and foxes, though he only learned the bird,” Frodo smiled fondly.  
  
“It’s amazing,” Sam breathed, still stunned by the detail, “I never knew such existed.” He put it gently back in the little box and fixed Frodo with his gaze as his vision blurred with tears. “I’ll treasure it.” Frodo smiled at last.  
  
“I was hoping you would say that,” he said.  
  
“What is the box from?” Sam asked, “I’ve never seen such a little box, except for jewelry maybe.”  
  
“I made it,” Frodo answered and Sam looked up in surprise. Frodo grinned, “Didn’t know I could do handicraft did you?” he paused and his eyes shifted out to gaze across the hills, “My father used to make little boxes to give as mathoms, and he taught me how to make them.” Sam sucked in a breath of air and froze. Frodo never talked about his parents, not in all the time Sam had known him.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Sam said again, ashamed that he couldn’t call up better words, but Frodo looked at him again, with a smile. “You don’t know what it means to me…”  
  
“I think I can see some of it in your face,” Frodo said quietly. Sam laughed, releasing his tension and closing the box gently, tucked it in his breast pocket.  
  
“Thank you,” Sam murmured and slid his hand into Frodo’s. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. Frodo nodded, his face serious, but the expression softened as Sam stepped closer. Maybe it was bold, to ask for the kiss, especially when he knew it would bring his reaction back to life, but Sam couldn’t help the need for closeness just then. He felt his shirt being pulled into Frodo’s gently clasped fist at his shoulder and wondered at it. Frodo too, seemed to be moved by the kiss.  
  
Sam was beginning to be able to keep his head through these kisses, rather than being so overwhelmed by the fact that he was kissing Frodo that he could only act as instinct and experience mechanically directed him. This time he focused and unhurriedly explored along Frodo’s lips and tongue, taking exquisite pleasure from the shivered reactions he was causing. Frodo gave a soft hum and his hold on Sam’s shoulders tightened as he returned the kiss with a force and tenderness that left Sam’s knees weak.  
  
“Glory,” Sam breathed as they parted and he noted that Frodo’s breath had quickened and even in the dim light he appeared flushed. He willed his groin not to throb at this but his cock would be insistent and stubborn.  
  
“Alright?” Frodo asked him to which Sam could only grin.  
  
“More than alright. They ought to write songs about kisses like that,” he said and to his delight Frodo burst into laughter.  
  
“I think you’ll find that they have,” he said. “Surely, you’ve heard them down at the pub?”  
  
“Ah, no,” Sam complained as they set back to walking, “Not common songs, I mean those pretty elf ballads. They always seem to catch just the right words for things too big to understand.”  
  
“They do, don’t they?” Frodo mused, “Well, you may be surprised to know that there are elf ballads on love and even on the consummation of passion,” he paused and smiled, looking out to the path ahead, “I could translate them for you, if you like.”  
  
“I don’t mean to give you more work,” Sam said bashfully but Frodo shook his head.  
  
“It’s hardly work. I rather enjoy reading them,” he said quietly, “And I would enjoy sharing them with you.”  
  
“Then, I should like that,” Sam said lost suddenly in a vision of himself and Frodo curled together in front of a fire as Frodo read to him of the loves of the Fair Folk.  
  
“Frodo?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Those cards you spoke on at the inn,” Sam said, “could I have one?” Frodo turned and looked at him curiously.  
  
“Of course,” he said, “but what ever for?”  
  
“I should like to have it,” Sam said, shy suddenly, “I like things that remind me of you. And it means I’m welcome to call on you doesn’t it?”  
  
“It does,” Frodo said. “And you are.”  
  
“Good,” Sam said, smiling.  
  
They drew at last to the Row road and stopped at their parting point. Frodo would ascend the Hill and Sam would go down into the row and duck into the little brown door of Number Three. Frodo turned to him and they gazed at one another for a long moment, and Sam was sure that Frodo was feeling reluctant to let this come to an end. It had seemed a space out of time, just the two of them, and now they would leave it behind to rejoin their families and their nightly routines.  
  
“I like this,” Frodo said quietly. He didn’t go on, as Sam had expected but stood still in the night air and let Sam think on his words.  
  
“I like it too,” Sam said at last. There didn’t seem to be anything else that needed to be said so Sam took Frodo’s hand and held it as they looked at one another. They would not kiss on the Row road.  
  
“Good night, dear,” Frodo said at last and drew his hand away. “Sleep well. Dream well,” he added softly, but there was no slyness in his voice, only tenderness. Sam blinked at sudden heat in his eyes.  
  
“Good night Frodo,” he whispered, shy suddenly to call him Frodo on the Row road, “Let morning find you well.”  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said and turned away, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sam almost said, ‘yes sir’ automatically, but it would have been harsh in the softness between them in that moment.  
  
“Until then,” Sam breathed and turned away, to find his hole and his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower notes  
> Variegated tulips: Beautiful eyes  
> Fern: Magic; Fascination  
> Amaryllis: Pride  
> Lime blossom: Fornication  
> Oak leaf: Strength  
> Olive leaf: Peace


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is my favorite character, with Sam at a close second. Frodo is an okay guy, but seriously. Sam and Bilbo are the best. The first time I started reading Lord of the Rings I got pissed after Bilbo left the Shire and walked out of the story. When I found out the rest of the story wasn't about him, I stopped reading. Just because of that. Didn't pick it up again for several years. Cause who wanted to read about Bilbo's cousin/nephew? Not me.
> 
> This chapter has a lot of Bilbo in it, so I had fun. We'll get back to Frodo and Sam- don't worry.
> 
> Also, Bilbo Baggins has not given a fuck since 2941. Not. A. Single. One.

“Hell and damnation!” Bilbo shouted as he paced. His nephew sat at the oak breakfast table and stared morosely at the damp foggy morning outside the kitchen window.  
  
“It doesn’t help to swear about it,” Frodo said, without conviction. Bilbo turned and sent a scathing look his way. Frodo only sipped his tea, unconcerned. “That’s what you tell me when I swear,” he said. Bilbo flopped down in a chair and took his tea cup, scowling at it.  
  
“I take it back,” he said savagely, “If I keep swearing when she gets here maybe she’ll go away.” He let out a low sigh, “Confound it all, why does she want to come to tea? She knows we hate her and she hates us. I think she inflicts herself on us out of spite.” Frodo chuckled and Bilbo cast a dour look at him. “It’s not funny, Frodo. You’ll be stuck here too, and she loves torturing you almost as much as she loves torturing me.”  
  
“I know,” Frodo sighed. It was best to let Bilbo fume in peace. Bilbo drank his tea and cast a suspicious look across the table.  
  
“You could at least look miserable. I am in mourning you know.”  
  
“Mourning?”  
  
“For my peaceful afternoon,” Bilbo lamented. “Its chances of survival are rather slim at present.”  
  
“I expect we will survive it,” Frodo told him. Bilbo snorted.  
  
“You think so? I’ve never believed in putting anything past the Sackville-Bagginses,” he muttered darkly, “I have told Ham that if he comes up the hill one day and finds us both dead to set the shirriffs on Lobelia.”  
  
“Bilbo!”  
  
“I’m serious, lad. There was murder in her eyes when I came back and reclaimed Bag End.”  
  
“Taking her time isn’t she?” Frodo asked as he reached for a boiled egg.  
  
“Biding her time,” Bilbo growled. Frodo smiled and peeled the egg. Even a visit from Lobelia could do little to dampen his mood, not after the evening he had spent with Sam. He felt as if he were keeping a wonderful warm secret safe in his weskit pocket. “Perhaps we could test the player piano on her,” Bilbo pondered wickedly, casting a glance toward the parlor. “If we’re lucky she’ll run screaming from the smial.” Frodo laughed and shook his head.  
  
The player piano was an ordinary piano, much like the other instruments decorating many a gentlehobbit’s hole, but Bilbo’s had dwarvish modifications so that the instrument played itself. Frodo had peeked inside once and seen a mass of wires, gears, and bellows, all of which allowed a hobbit to wind the thing like a clock and watch as the keys plunked up and down as if an invisible hand were playing it. As worldly as Frodo liked to think himself even he had moments of uneasiness watching the thing at work.  
  
“Don’t be absurd,” Frodo said, “Lobelia would call it and you an abomination in the same breath and then ask you to pass the scones. She doesn’t take notice of our peculiarity, only uses it against us. There’s no use antagonizing her.” Bilbo glowered.  
  
“She’s bringing Otho and Lotho,” he said flatly. Frodo froze and lifted his eyes, feeling his golden happiness crinkle around the edges.  
  
“Bloody hell,” he groaned. Lobelia could only devote so much time to each of them and she preferred annoying Bilbo. Otho and Lotho, on the other hand, seemed to have adopted Frodo as their favorite target.  
  
“Can I ask Sam to put whiskey in my tea?” Frodo asked. Bilbo chuckled at that.  
  
“Sam’s at the Braceguirdle’s today,” he said and Frodo groaned.  
  
“Oh, poor lad. I suppose you were counting on seeing him?” Bilbo asked. Frodo murmured an acknowledgment as he ate his egg. “Well, no matter. Perhaps he’ll come by when he’s done with their plot, especially when he hears the Sackville-Bagginses have visited. The boy knows what that does to us.” Frodo smiled slightly, remembering last fall after a nasty visit from Lobelia, and how afterward Sam had appeared at their door with a baskets of fresh cakes and offered condolences, even though it had been a day that he hadn’t worked. Bilbo had invited him in to share the cakes and all three had spent a warm evening together.  
  
Lobelia arrived at the appointed time, her husband and son trailing behind her on the path through the garden. Bilbo opened the door and scowled at them.  
  
“Do try and look pleasant at least,” Frodo muttered to him, to which Bilbo scowled even harder and turned a quick glare on his nephew.  
  
“What the bloody hell for?” he snapped before stepping down the stepped to greet his guests. Otho put his hand out but Bilbo pretended not to see it.  
  
“I say old chap,” Otho said huffing from the short walk and dropped his hand awkwardly, “I do hope we aren’t putting you to trouble. But every hobbit ought to have a nice tea with relations now and again. It’s the decent thing, and I suppose we have taken it on ourselves to improve you!” he chortled. Bilbo stared daggers at the old hobbit.  
  
“I believe you are fighting a losing battle there, Otho,” Lobelia tittered. Bilbo sighed and turned away.  
  
“Tea is just on,” he said stiffly, “Come along inside. Frodo, take your aunt’s arm.” Frodo fought the urge to roll his eyes at Bilbo’s hypocrisy, but offered his arm to Lobelia as she climbed up the steps with him. They sat down to tea and Bilbo served. He always believe in having tea ready for his unwelcome guests so that they might leave sooner. Frodo seated himself at the square table and poured tea for his aunt and uncle. He glanced at Lotho, who had taken the seat next to him and passed the tea pot to him. Lotho took it and silently poured his own, looking almost as sullen and irritated as Bilbo. Frodo sighed and sat back, readying himself for the trial ahead. He hoped Sam made an appearance later. Perhaps they could go walking on the back roads again.  
  
“Sit up, Frodo!” Lobelia barked from across the table. Frodo gasped and came back to the present, casting a glare at his aunt.  
  
“Lobelia I will thank you not to snap at my nephew in his own hole,” Bilbo said icily as he sat down. “It is neither civil nor your place to correct him.” Lobelia turned her ire on Bilbo, her mouth pursing in distain.  
  
“Someone needs to correct the boy,” she said, “I don’t expect you would be capable, but perhaps he could join the young gentlehobbit’s club. That would stop all this book reading and walking at night and bald faced unpredictability. You’d be out doing proper things. And,” she added eyeing his elbows on the table, “I do believe they have courses on table manners.”  
  
“Here Frodo,” Otho cut in, his eyes gleaming, “We could hire you a governess. How would that be?” he laughed. Frodo stirred his tea, feeling very tired.  
  
“I am upholding the tradition of being peculiar,” he said dryly, “It wouldn’t do to upset the village with a predictable Baggins. We haven’t had one of those in Hobbiton in more than fifty years.”  
  
“Well I see you’re not wanting in cheek, are you?” Otho said in a low voice, “I’ll thank you to show my wife courtesy when she speaks to you, young lad.” Frodo gritted his teeth and began to ponder how he could get ahold of the whiskey sans Gamgee intervention.  
  
“I beg your pardon Aunt Lobelia if you feel I was rude,” Frodo said, fixing his aunt in a long stare.  
  
“Oh for heaven’s sake Frodo don’t apologize when they’re being asses!” Bilbo said, pointing vigorously across the table, “It encourages them!”  
  
“You will have your little jokes cousin Bilbo,” Lobelia tittered. As she did Frodo caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw Bilbo tipping a small flask over his tea cup, held close to his body so that the Sackville-Bagginses couldn’t see. He caught Frodo looking and winked. Winked! Frodo stifled a gasp of jealousy. Almost as quickly as he had produced the flash it was tucked back safe in his waistcoat pocket, and Bilbo turned on Lobelia, scowling.  
  
“What do you want Lobelia?” he asked pointedly. Lobelia’s eyebrows raised higher and she snorted delicately.  
  
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said sipping her tea. Bilbo leaned back suddenly and his mouth went tight.  
  
“I am not letting you on the Flower Festival committee!” he breathed. Lobelia went a deep shade of red.  
  
“It’s meant for gentlehobbit wives! It’s all about deciding decorum, and arranging music and food,” she cried, “it’s hardly fitting for a gentlehobbit to put his hand to such things.”  
  
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business what sort of matters I set my hand to,” Bilbo said querulously, “And anyway, I find strict gender roles to be an utter bore.” Lobelia huffed and narrowed her eyes.  
  
“If you had any inkling of propriety you would let me represent the Baggins family,” she maintained.  
  
“It’s true old boy,” Otho said shoving a scone in his mouth, “It would be your wife on that committee had you ever had the decency to marry. It isn’t right for you to be among all those ladies.”  
  
“Are you accusing me of impropriety with the Friends of the West Farthing Flower Festival committee?” Bilbo demanded.  
  
“Try saying that three times fast,” Frodo remarked. The three adult hobbits turned glares on him.  
  
"There are _dark rumors_ ," Lobelia said dropping her voice. Bilbo snorted, looking pleased.  
  
"My favorite kind."

"About you and a certain lady on the committee,” Lobelia added, lowering her eyebrows.  
  
“A certain lady who you have a certain history with,” Otho said leaning forward. Bilbo glanced at them both, looking unconcerned.  
  
“And here I thought you were accusing my uncle of impropriety with the whole committee,” Frodo said sipping his tea.  
  
“Good heavens, I should hope not,” Bilbo interjected and Frodo snorted.  
  
“Not at your age, uncle."  
  
“Are you two quite done?” Otho asked angrily, and cast as glance at his son who was watching the whole thing, “You see? Bachelorhood encourages vulgarity of all sorts.”  
  
“Delphinium Burrows in particular has made certain claims,” Lobelia continued, squinting in peak.  
  
“Delphinium Burrows is a liar,” Bilbo thundered, “I would sooner have relations with a troll than that sack of hot air!”  
  
“Bilbo Baggins! There is a lady present! Really!” Otho objected. Frodo sighed. They would be at this a while. He turned slightly to the young hobbit seated next to him, who was openly eyeing the blueberry tart on the platter in the middle of the table with greedy eyes. Frodo reached out and drew the platter close.  
  
“Care for a tart?” he asked tiredly. Lotho squinted at him speculatively then reached for it. “You’ve been quiet,” Frodo observed as Lotho munched.  
  
“I’m enjoying the spectacle,” he said. Frodo chuckled. There were times that he found Lotho tolerable, but it usually only lasted for a minute or two. “You aren’t really considering joining our club are you?” And there it was. Frodo gave him a rueful look.  
  
“No cousin,” he said flatly, “You’re precious club is safe from the likes of me.”  
  
“We wouldn’t have you,” Lotho assured him.  
  
“I’m sure,” Frodo sighed. Why had he even tried talking to Lotho?  
  
“Mind, there’s ways you could serve the club,” Lotho continued. Frodo paused and cast an annoyed look at his cousin.  
  
“Insults work better if you make them plain,” he said tiredly, “You could say, ‘well Frodo-lad you’re as much of a gentlehobbit as the caddys we employ for the golf tournaments’.”  
  
“We had a visitor last month,” Lotho said unexpectedly and Frodo paused.  
  
“Really cousin Lotho, I’m beginning to worry about you,” he said, “You don’t feel odd after eating do you? Not like last time?” Lotho turned and fixed him with a thoughtful and calculating look that made Frodo suddenly uneasy.  
  
“Uncle Gorbulas was on his way to visit the Tooks and stopped in. Uncle Gorb is great friends with father.” Frodo went still but forced himself to reach for his tea cup, hiding his expression.  
  
“What does this have to do with the club-” Frodo began but Lotho interrupted.  
  
“I think you know what he said,” he said in a low voice. Frodo didn’t answer but stared at his tea. “He only told me and father. Didn’t think it proper to say in front of mother.”  
  
“You ought not believe everything you hear,” Frodo said quietly, but he knew he had already lost. Lotho sipped his tea, watching Bilbo wave his arms wildly at Lobelia as they argued. His lips curled into an unpleasant smile and he said quietly,  
  
“Do you take it in the ass? There are some lads at the club who would enjoy you.” Frodo stood quickly and struck Lotho hard in the nose with his fist. Lobelia shrieked in horror and Otho began shouting curses.  
  
“Oh well done Frodo!” Bilbo said brightly as Lotho’s nose spurted blood and he fell over the tea table.

♦

  
Sam entered the pub and scrubbed his feet on the mat by the door. There was a whistle and Sam turned to see Tom, Hob, Ponto, and Bill seated at a table near one of the Dragon’s large round windows. He raised a hand in greeting and went to sit by his friends. His gaze lingered on Hob, whose hair was sheared close on the sides, with the top of his head untouched, so that thick curls spilled over the sheared sides.  
  
“What happened to you, then?” Sam asked uncertainly. Hob frowned as Tom and Bill burst in guffaws and Ponto snorted as he sipped.  
  
“It’s a new style from Michel Delving,” Hob said petulantly, “My Ivy knows all about it and cut me hair.”  
  
“Well I beg your pardon, Hob,” Sam said grinning, “but it looks like Miss Ivy sheared you with hedge clippers.”  
  
“It does not!” Hob protested and turned a venomous look at the others, “you’re all a bunch of no nothing bumpkins.”  
  
“Here,” Tom called and raised his glass and frowned, “Sam you’ve no drink. Let me fix that.” He raised a hand and caught the bar maids eye, “One more Miss Myrtle.”  
  
“I didn’t expect you to be against me as well,” Hob said mournfully staring at Sam. Sam shrugged.  
  
“Even Sam, kind hearted and moony as he is, can’t tell you that looks well,” Ponto chuckled.  
  
“Who’s moony?” Sam grumbled, “And Hob, it’would not be kind to tell you a lie. It’s a disservice Miss Ivy did to you and you ought to know it.”  
  
“Next time try letting a goat chew your hair,” Tom snickered, “T’will turn out more fair.”  
  
“Tom Cotton, you leave off!” came a feminine voice and Sam turned to see a crowd of lasses standing by the door, led by Ivy herself. Tom clicked his tongue.  
  
“Hell,” he said in an undertone and rose to bow to the lasses, “I’m sorry Miss Ivy, but don’t be expecting that haircut of Hob’s to be catching on in Hobbiton anytime soon.” Ivy giggled as she moved to the table and put her hands on Hob’s shoulders, batting her eyelashes at Tom.  
  
“Well, I cannot blame you lads. I think I may have taken off a bit too much. But my poor Hob took it with good grace,” she bent and kissed his cheek. Hob grinned and flushed. Ponto rose and began gathering more chairs.  
  
“Shift over lads, let’s find these ladies some seats,” he said. Sam rose to help and to his surprise saw Marigold in the group. He raised his eyebrows at her and she snorted.  
  
“Don’t go telling the Gaffer now, Sam,” she said.  
  
“That you’re in the pub?” Sam asked smiling, “You know that will get around.” Marigold stuck her tongue out and slipped her hand around Tom Cotton’s arm.  
  
“Da won’t care, if you and Tom are here to look after me,” she said. “I just don’t want to worry him.”  
  
“Hm,” Sam snorted and pulled a chair up for her. He sat with Marigold on his left and Tom sat down next to her, casting a dazed smile on the youngest Gamgee girl. Sam watched the pair and smiled a little. Of all the lads wanting to court the Gamgee sisters he approved most of Tom Cotton, for he and Tom had been close friends for many years and Sam knew his quality.  
  
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Sam,” a feminine voice said from behind him and Sam turned to see an unfamiliar lass slid into the empty seat beside him. “Would you mind terribly if I sat here?” she asked.  
  
“No, miss,” he said politely. The girl blushed prettily and held her hand out.  
  
“Lilac Greenbody,” she said shyly. Sam took her hand and nodded to her, a hint of unease in his heart.  
  
“Samwise Gamgee,” he said, “Though maybe you already knew my name. Pleased to meet you miss.” The girl smiled, and Sam had to admit, she was fetching, with dark shining curls and pink cheeks. She had a shy grace and sweetness to her. He looked into his drink feeling uncomfortable.  
  
“Your cousin Ponto has spoken on you,” Lilac said softly, “He says you are a gardener for one of the country smials?” she asked. Sam met her eyes again and nodded.  
  
“Yes miss. I work up at Bag End mostly,” he said.  
  
“How very nice,” Lilac said and silence fell between them. Tom cleared his throat.  
  
“Lilac is from Oatbarton and the daughter of Gordo Greenbody. He’s the town blacksmith. Makes very fine pony shoes.” Sam glanced at his friend who was watching him encouragingly, and Sam realized he had been rude to the lady, not asking about herself. He winced slightly and turned back to her.  
  
“That’s a fine thing. I take care of my master’s pony sometimes. I know the importance of a good shoe.” Lilac gave him a bright smile.  
  
“Da does good work,” she said. “I help him in the shop some. Keep the fires built and stoked mostly.” Sam stared at her in amazement.  
  
“A lass in a blacksmith shop?” he asked, then flushed. He ought not to act so very surprised even if it was terribly uncommon. The girl blinked at him and looked down, flushing a little.  
  
“My hands may be a little rougher than most lass’s, Mr. Samwise, but that’s no reason for me not to help my da.”  
  
“I beg your pardon, Miss Lilac. I didn't mean anything by it. Honest,” Sam said abashedly. He looked up and saw Tom grinning and shaking his head ruefully. Beyond him, Ponto eyed him closely. Sam blinked, pausing to watch his cousin more closely. He frowned turning back to the girl and said, “Pardon me miss, but might I get you a cider? You too Mari?” he asked, looking at his sister.  
  
“Oh yes please,” she said.  
  
“Yes thank you,” Lilac said quietly. Sam nodded and rose saying as he did,  
  
“Come on Ponto, be a good lad and help me carry.”  
  
“Think I’ll go too. Me mug’s near gone,” Tom said rising to follow. Sam turned back and saw Marigold eyeing Lilac with open interest, though Lilac for her part only smiled. Sam neared the counter and turned on Ponto who was close behind him.  
  
“Here now, what’s all this?” Sam asked in a low grumble, scowling.  
  
“What’s what?” Ponto asked.  
  
“Did you set me up with Miss Lilac?” Sam demanded and Ponto folded his arms, scowling back.  
  
“So what if I did cousin?” he asked, “You could try and look grateful.”  
  
“You could try and stop mucking it all up Sam-lad,” Tom snorted, coming to stand at Sam’s side.  
  
“You had no right to go setting me up with a lass without telling me,” Sam growled.  
  
“Oh, don’t you like her?” Tom asked in surprise, “I think she’s fine.”  
  
“That she may be, but,” Sam took a breath and felt his heart pound suddenly with nerves, “But I’m already courting another.” Tom gave him an astounded look and grinned.  
  
“Good on you, Sammy,” he said and threw his arm around Sam’s shoulder. “One of your sister’s friends is it?” he asked. Sam took a breath. He trusted Tom, but Ponto was another matter.  
  
“The one you’re set to court ain’t right for you,” Ponto growled, “T’will shame the family.” Sam’s mouth dropped open in shock and he saw Tom turn a surprised look on Ponto as well.  
  
“Here now,” Tom said uncertainly.  
  
“You knew I was courting and you still set me up with some poor lass who don’t know I’m already spoken for?” Sam hissed angrily at his cousin.  
  
“You’re not spoke for,” Ponto declared angrily, “What you’re doing ain’t real courting. Miss Lilac comes from a good family of trade hobbits and she is fair and kind and will make a fine wife. You look to her and quit that nonsense.” Tom stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in anger.  
  
“You stop there Ponto Brown. You’ll not talk to our Sam that way, I don’t care if you are his kin,” Tom said through clenched teeth. “If Sam says he’s spoke for then he’s spoke for, and it was a rotten thing for you to go lying to that poor lass.”  
  
“And you’ll stay out of this Tom Cotton. Tisn’t your family will get dragged through the mud.”  
  
“Ponto, you go apologize to that lass,” Sam said angrily, “She don’t deserve to be played about with. And I would look on it as a kindness if you stay out of my business.” His frown deepened as it began to come together in his mind, “I know your Lily is close with our May, but that don’t give the lot of you the right to go about meddling in my affairs.”  
  
“Your affairs aren’t the sort of things for lasses to be speaking on, and I don’t like that sort of talk in me own kitchen,” Ponto spat and eyed Sam coolly, “Ah Sam-lad, do yourself a favor and go chat up that lass.” He shook his head and stared hard at Sam, lowering his voice, “Just what do you think will come of it? He’ll not speak a claim for one like you, not when the time comes. Mark me.” With that Ponto turned and found his wife standing near the table. Sam watched as Ponto slid his arm around Lily and drew her along the row of tables, to sit in a quiet corner.  
  
“He?” Tom asked softly from beside him. Sam sighed softly. He hadn’t been looking forward to having to explain himself to his friends. Even if Tom was his best friend, he wasn’t sure Tom would take much of a higher opinion of this courting business, even if he wasn’t as hard about it as Ponto. Sam turned to Tom to see his friend’s face showing undisguised shock and he grimaced. Tom cocked his head and murmured, “It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Frodo Baggins.” Sam gawked in surprise of his own and Tom snorted. “Oh Sam-lad don’t look so surprised. Ponto and I did see the pair of you holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes in this very pub.”  
  
“We were not,” Sam grumbled, but realize that actually, they had. This made him sulk harder and Tom chuckled.  
  
“I thought the pair of you were just moony for each other. I didn't know you would ever speak on it.”  
  
“Well, I did,” Sam said unsteadily. It felt very strange to be talking about this with Tom, but Tom seemed unruffled.  
  
“Then you must have the biggest set of bullocks in the farthing to go setting your cap on the heir to the hill,” Tom paused and grinned, “Or the least wits.”  
  
“Laugh if you like Tom Cotton,” Sam said, recognizing the good natured tease for what it was, “But I asked him and he asked me, and we’ve permission from our families. We’re doing it proper like, no matter what Ponto and those like him say,” he said. Tom’s grin faded and he smiled slightly.  
  
“Aye, I know Sam,” he said. “Your Mr. Frodo is one to treat right, and I’m sure you will.” He glanced back at the table, “What about Miss Lilac?”  
  
“Oh bother Ponto,” Sam sighed, “I only wanted a drink and to relax with the lads after a hard day.”  
  
“Want me to talk with her?” Tom offered but Sam shook his head.  
  
“Nay, t’would not be right,” he groaned, “I’ll see to it.” Tom slapped him on the back and Sam turned back to the table.  
  
“Oy, Sam,” Tom called and Sam glanced back at him. “You were supposed to be getting herself and Mari a cider.” Sam sighed.  
  
“Oh, er, aye,” he said, going back to the ale counter. Tom flashed him a last grin.  
  
“Poor ‘ol Sammy G. You do want looking after,” he laughed. Sam scowled and extended his middle finger, which only made Tom laugh harder as he moved away to find his place back at Marigold’s side.  
  
“Samwise Gamgee!” the proprietor Mr. Warren scolded coming up to the counter, “Don’t you be carrying on so; not with ladies in the pub tonight! Haven’t you any sense lad?” he demanded. Sam winced, setting his arms on the counter and reached into his purse.  
  
“Begging your pardon Mr. Warren,” he said, “But Tom Cotton’s being a hellion.”  
  
“I dunna care what’s he’s being. And mind the language,” Mr. Warren said, reaching for a glass. “Now, what are you drinking?” he asked.  
  
“Two ciders, please Mr. Warren,” Sam said.  
  
“Both for you, lad?” the proprietor asked absently as he went to the cider barrels.  
  
“For me sister and one of the other lasses, sir,” Sam said and pushed the coins onto the counter.  
  
“You saucy charmer,” Warren laughed and winked at Sam. Sam grunted and leaned against the counter feeling suddenly tired. He carried the ciders back to the table and set one down in front of his sister and the other in front of Lilac.  
  
“Miss Lilac,” he said nervously, “I wonder if I might have a word with you? Maybe outside, where there is less noise?” he asked. The girl’s eyebrows raised.  
  
“I’m not sure that’s proper Mr. Samwise,” she said.  
  
“What if I come along?” Marigold suggested quietly and met her brother’s eyes apologetically, “Miss Lilac and I have been making friends, and it wouldn’t be improper as long as I come.” Sam nodded slowly. This was all he needed, he reflected, not only would he have to have an uncomfortable conversation with a lass he barely knew, revealing a matter that he thought private, he would have his sister along to watch the whole thing. But there wasn’t another good way to go about it so he looked back at Lilac.  
  
“Would that be alright then miss?” he asked. Lilac considered for a moment and nodded slightly. Together they rose and went out, carrying their drinks with them as they went out for a bit of air. The lane outside was cool and cheerfully lit and Sam sighed in relief to be out of the hot crowded and noisy pub. He guided the two girls to a table by the lane and they sat down.  
  
“Miss Lilac,” Sam said feeling his face go hot, “I’m courting another, you see.” To his dismay the girl’s face went bright red and she looked fixedly down at the table.  
  
“I beg your pardon Mr. Samwise. Your cousin led me to believe things stood different with you.”  
  
“Yes miss, I know he did,” Sam said, “I’m terribly sorry he did that, and for anything I might have done to make you think so. I think you’re a charming lass and I feel terrible I was rude to you.”  
  
“That’s quite alright Mr. Samwise,” Lilac said, rising from the table, “I feel an absolute fool, and I will have some hard words for your cousin, begging your pardon.” Sam rose to his feet unsteadily.  
  
“O-Oh, no, I beg your pardon miss. Please don’t feel a fool. You did not do anything to feel foolish about,” he said sputtering, “You’re very pretty and seem very nice indeed, all the lads said so. Why I’d be hard pressed to name another lass with such fine curls as yours. And it’s not every lass who is good enough to help her da with a hard trade. It will be a lucky lad who has the chance to court you.” Lilac gave him a cool look and Marigold, behind him groaned.  
  
“Mr. Samwise, thank you for the cider,” Lilac said, her voice unexpectedly hard, “But I really don’t care to listen to a lad go on about me assets when he has just said me nay. Good evening to you, and to you Marigold.” She stood up and moved quickly off, darting back into the pub, disappearing from view. Sam sat down, feeling stunned and unhappy.  
  
“Great heavens Sam, why didn’t you shut your mouth?” Marigold asked him. Sam turned a mournful look on her.  
  
“Because I’m a half-wit,” he said. “I was just trying to apologize and show her it weren’t her fault.”  
  
“Her fault!” Marigold snapped at him, “Glory Samwise, you are a half-wit. Don’t you know the less said the better when you go embarrassing a lass like that? She was wanting to get away and you kept going on about how pretty she was.”  
  
“I was trying to make it easier,” Sam mumbled. “I didn’t want to embarrass her.”  
  
“It don’t sound nice when it’s coming from someone who made you feel a fool. It sounds like you’re telling her tales,” Marigold sighed, “But it’s really cousin Ponto that made her feel the fool, telling her tales, isn’t it?” She cast a curious look at her brother. “Who are you courting then?” she asked. Sam turned and looked at her in surprise.  
  
“The Gaffer didn’t tell you?” he asked. Marigold frowned.  
  
“No,” she said. “Not me anyway.” Sam looked down and took a sip of his beer.  
  
“I’m courting Mr. Frodo,” he said quietly and watched Mari’s eyes go wide. She was silent a long moment, blinking in the torch light and her surprise melted into a puzzled frown.  
  
“He’s a lad,” she said finally. Sam felt slightly bemused by the statement.  
  
“Ah, that he is,” he nodded. She squinted at him.  
  
“You’re having me on,” she said and Sam’s bemusement died. He sighed again, feeling the weariness of the day settle on his shoulders.  
  
“I’m not having you on. Mr. Bilbo gave me permission to court him and when I asked him, he accepted. We’ve even been walking out.”  
  
“Huh,” Marigold stared into her cider a moment and then took a sip. “I dunno as you _can_ court a lad,” she said slowly, “I mean walking out is all very well, but Sam-lad, you know when it gets serious; well, when a lass lays down with a lad, she’s got a place where he can put his-”  
  
“Marigold Gamgee!” Sam hissed at her.  
  
“So how could two lads-”  
  
“It ain’t proper for you to know. You just leave that be,” Sam growled at her, “Drink your cider.” Marigold watched him, undisturbed by his fluster and sipped demurely.  
  
“I’ll ask Tom,” she said. Sam put his head in his hands.  
  
“Glory,” he sighed, “If the Gaffer finds out you even know aught about-”  
  
“Then don’t tell him Samwise,” she said and stared out at the stars thoughtfully, “It still don’t seem right somehow. You courting Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“Why is that?” Sam asked stiffly. Marigold focused her eyes on her brother and shrugged.  
  
“Dunno. He’s just so different,” she said. Sam stared down at the dirt beneath his feet.  
  
“Aye. That he is,” he said quietly, “I think that’s some of why I… why I think so high of him,” he said thoughtfully. Marigold fixed him with her grey-brown eyes.  
  
“The Gaffer has always said you were born under waxing moon and that make you the meddlesome curious sort; that you go seeking for things you ought not look for,” Marigold sighed, “Ah Sam, you never done anything the easy way have you?”  
  
“No Mari,” he admitted.

♦

  
Bilbo finished drying the dishes from dinner and paused listening. He could hear Frodo moving restlessly about the hole and sighed. Frodo had been quiet all afternoon and Bilbo had given him space. _Poor boy is probably wanting Sam,_ he thought. Long ago Bilbo had noticed how their gardener’s son had an uncanny ability to lift Frodo’s spirits. It could have been merely from the affection between the two, but Bilbo suspected it was something about Sam’s personality. The boy had always struck him as radiating a certain steadiness.  
  
It was getting late and it looked as if Sam would not be making an appearance tonight. Bilbo glanced over to the stove where he had been warming milk and went to take it off the burner. Carefully he poured two cups and resolutely went to the parlor, where he could hear Frodo pacing. When he entered Frodo stilled and gave him a smile.  
  
“Warm milk?” he asked as Bilbo pressed the cup into his hand.  
  
“I know, you’re not a child anymore,” Bilbo agreed and sat down heavily. “But you seem in need of something soothing.” Frodo paused and studied him.  
  
“Do I?” he asked quietly and sat down on the sofa.  
  
“You’ve been pacing since before dinner,” Bilbo pointed out gently. “Missing Sam, are you?” Frodo blinked, looking surprised.  
  
“Sam?” he asked and frowned a little, “I wasn’t expecting him.”  
  
“Oh, no?” Bilbo asked uncertainly. Frodo chuckled.  
  
“I’ll see him tomorrow.”  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo said frowning, “Well then, what’s got you so out of sorts?”  
  
“The SBs,” Frodo murmured looking into his cup and absently stuck his finger in, catching a speck. “Lotho in particular.”  
  
“That was the best way to end a tea that I have ever seen in all my days,” Bilbo said proudly. “I know I shouldn’t encourage violence, but I’m sure he deserved it.”  
  
“I suppose,” Frodo said, without enthusiasm.  
  
“What did he say then?” Bilbo asked quietly, feeling suddenly like a bit of an ass. He should have known something had disturbed Frodo to make the boy violent like that. The only time he had seen Frodo attack anyone was when a mean spirited Grubb made a nasty remark about Frodo’s mother at a party. Frodo squirmed uncomfortably.  
  
“He and his father had a visit from Uncle Gorbulas and they heard the same tale you did from cousin Seredic.” Bilbo gaped. _Oh goodness,_ he thought, _if anyone knows how to use information against someone it’s the damn SBs…_  
  
“I suppose he was rude about it,” Bilbo said quietly.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said shortly. Bilbo sighed.  
  
“I’m so sorry my dear lad,” he murmured. “I wish I could make it all easier for you.” He was surprised by Frodo’s light laugh and looked up to see his heir gazing at him with bright eyes.  
  
“You do,” Frodo said gently, “I owe a great deal of my happiness to you.”  
  
“Don’t be silly now,” Bilbo said quickly and drank his milk. Frodo only shook his head and looked away.

♦

  
Sam stayed at the pub a while longer waiting for Tom and Marigold to be ready to go back. He didn’t want to spoil their rare evening out by leaving and forcing them to cut their enjoyment short; for Mari wouldn’t be cheeky enough to stay with Tom unchaperoned at a pub. Besides, the pair of them enjoyed his company and, Sam knew, were trying to jolly him out of his disturbed mood. He hadn’t seen Ponto and Lily, nor Lilac since coming back inside.  
  
When they finally left, Sam thought briefly of his plan to stroll up to Bag End and see if Frodo wanted to sit on the hill and watch the stars, but by the moon it looked to be fairly late, and Sam knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable knocking on the door, even if the Bagginses kept late hours.  
  
“And Daisy said she saw Miss Lobelia’s trap up on the Hill,” Marigold was telling Tom. Sam blinked and shifted his attention to his sister.  
  
“The Sackville-Bagginses were up at the Hill today?” he asked in horror. Marigold blinked at him in the dim light.  
  
“I suppose so,” she said.  
  
“Ah hell and damn,” he groaned. Tom covered Mari’s ears and shot Sam a look of reproach, while Mari giggled. “She’s heard worse than that from the Gaffer,” Sam said. He would have left the pub earlier had he known the Sackville-Bagginses had been for a visit, for he knew how they’re presence galled Bilbo and Frodo. It would have been so pleasant to offer Frodo that evening of peace on the hill top, just the two of them, after the terrors of Lobelia.  
  
“We’ve all our burdens to bear I’m afraid,” Tom said, “Sam has cabbage slugs and the Bagginses have the Sackville-Bagginses,” he said grinning.  
  
“And I’ve a bothersome gossipy cousin,” Marigold said, “Can I do something nasty to Lily? She’s such an empty headed sop!”  
  
“No,” Tom and Sam told her.  
  
“Well Ponto ought to be fair game. Will you lend me some of that root that gives the trots?” Mari asked.  
  
“I’ve given that up,” Sam said firmly, “And how did you know about that anyway?” he asked suspiciously.  
  
“You’re not the only one who can listen under windowsills, Sam-dear,” she laughed.  
  
“… We did ought to handle Ponto,” Tom said a little uneasily. Sam looked ahead on the path and frowned.  
  
“Dunno how,” he said quietly.  
  
“He’s your kin. He ought not be spreading around-” Tom began but Sam shook his head.  
  
“It’s going to get out,” he said, “That’s not Ponto’s fault.”  
  
“Aye, but the way he spoke to you,” Tom said, “that wasn’t right.”  
  
“I can take a bit of flak,” Sam said, “Especially from Ponto.” He paused, “But I don’t want that sort of talk reaching the Hill.” The three were silent for a long moment.  
  
“It wouldn’t. No one around here would dare speak ill on Mr. Frodo to his face,” Tom said, “except unless it was a gentlehobbit, maybe.” Sam bowed his head.  
  
“Aye,” he said slowly.  
  
“It would be so terribly rude,” Mari murmured quietly.  
  
“That doesn’t stop some of them,” Tom said grimly. “Oh Sam-lad. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. You have my word on that,” he shook his head, “But what help I can give; I don’t know what that would be. I think it may be up to you and Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“I know,” Sam said quietly.

♦

  
The next morning it rained. Sam stared out the window, feeling happy about the drizzle. When it rained hard like this there was no point in gardening. Sometimes the Gamgees stayed in and sent word up to Bag End, but lately the Gaffer had been sending Sam up the Hill to work on indoor jobs that Bilbo had for him. Sam had a very good feeling that his father was going to do just that, and since Bilbo never worked him very hard on those days maybe he and Frodo could spend the rainy afternoon together. Maybe Frodo had translated some of those elvish love epics, though he blushed a little to think of them reading such a thing together.  
  
He was pondering the pleasant things they could do when he heard a shriek from Daisy and a grinding rumble from behind him. Sam whirled around to see the stones of the chimney sliding and sagging to right, while overhead a torrent of water poured into the smial.  
  
“Sam!” Daisy cried and Sam ran to her and held her hand, staring at their chimney that had always seemed so sturdy. He was at a loss for what to do about it.  
  
“Da!” he shouted. From farther in the smial doors flew open and Marigold and May came running, the Gaffer behind them. The elder Gamgee let out a cry at the sight of the chimney. It had stopped sinking, but it sagged out of place, the soaked earth around it unable to support its weight and the wooden beams meant to hold the roof in place were splintered, and Sam noted, rotten. The Gaffer only gaped for a moment before striding closer.  
  
“Girls, get something to catch that water. The floor will be ruined,” he said, “Sam, we have to cover that hole. Have we anything that can do the job?”  
  
“That old door I got from the Oatbarton fair,” Sam said thinking carefully. He didn’t want the door ruined, he had been saving it for when the backdoor finally gave in and rotted, but the situation was grim. That door was big though, and he wouldn’t be able to get it up on top of the smial himself.  
  
“Mari, run up the Hill and tell the Bagginses what’s happened and that Sam won’t be up there today.”  
  
“Yes da,” Marigold hurried to the door and threw a cloak on, heading into the torrent. The Gaffer moved past Sam and paused to clasp his shoulder. Sam had long ago learned this was how the Gaffer apologized.  
  
“I should have listened to you lad,” the Gaffer said slowly and heaved a sigh, “Come along, let’s get that door in place.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said, with only a small pang that it couldn’t be him that ran up the hill. With a grim look at the mess around the fire pit Sam began to make his way to the door, finding his own cloak, as his father followed behind.

♦

  
  
Bilbo Baggins was cooking when he heard the knock at the door. Frowning he wiped his hands and called,  
  
“Frodo!” Predictably there was no answer. Muttering Bilbo tried again, calling, “Frodo, get the door please!” He knew his heir was up, for he had visited briefly for first breakfast and then slunk back into the bowels of Bag End. He had looked as if he had either got into the wine last night or hadn’t recovered from the Sackville-Bagginses. Or both.  
  
With a sigh Bilbo went to the door. He expected to find the post-hobbit or maybe one of the farmers, come to consult him on some matter. He didn’t expect to find Marigold Gamgee shivering on his front stoop with terror in her eyes.  
  
“Mari, my dear lass!” Bilbo cried and pulled the girl in.  
  
“Beg your pardon Mr. Bilbo, but the chimney fell in down at Number Three, and Sam won’t be coming up today, and-”  
  
“The chimney? Good heavens, is anyone hurt?” Bilbo asked, feeling chilled but Marigold shook her head, her dripping curls whipping around her flushed cheeks.  
  
“Nay sir,” she said trying to catch her breath, “But it give us all the worst kind of fright.”  
  
“I imagine so,” Bilbo said and turned slightly to shout down the hall, “Frodo Baggins!” There was a slight delay and Bilbo heard a door open from far down the hall and footsteps. Even hungover, Frodo wouldn’t be cheeky enough ignore the call when Bilbo used his full name.  
  
“Sir?” Frodo asked weakly as he entered the lighted hallway and then catching sight of Marigold, straightened. His expression went from bewildered to deep anxiety in a matter of seconds.  
  
“Miss Marigold?” he said, and any color that had been in his cheeks drained. He knew she wouldn’t be up here unless something unusual was going on, and Marigold hadn’t lost her wide eyed expression.  
  
“No one is hurt, but the chimney has fallen in at Number Three,” Bilbo said quickly. “Get that weskit off and find the umbrellas. We’re going down there.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said and shot off.  
  
“You needn’t come down, sir,” Marigold said, but when Bilbo turned back to her and gave her an incredulous look the girl flushed and stared at her toes. “Beg your pardon,” she murmured.  
  
“I would not let your family face this alone,” Bilbo told her quietly. “Would you mind waiting a moment, my dear, so that we can all walk down together?”  
  
“Not at all, sir,” Marigold said quietly.  
  
“Do you know what the Gaffer plans to do about it?” Bilbo asked. The girl looked up at him.  
  
“Da and Sam are going to cover the hole in the roof with a door.” Bilbo nodded slowly. He didn’t actually know how to go about repairing a fallen in chimney, he would trust the Gaffer and Sam to have a better idea of that, but he did not like the idea of the Gaffer on the roof trying to move a door about. He frowned and began trying to work out how he would get the Gaffer to agree to let Frodo go up in his place. Frodo might not know as much as the old gardener, but the boy could follow orders well enough and he was strong in a pinch.  
  
Frodo returned quickly, cloaks thrown over his arm, his weskit gone and his shirt changed into a lighter work shirt. In his other hand he clutched two umbrellas. He looked at Bilbo expectantly, and Bilbo was a bit surprised by the calm assessing look in his eye.  
  
“Do we need anything else?” he asked. Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“Not that I know of. Come on you two,” he said, and together they went out into the rain and descended the hill.  
  
Bilbo entered the lane and spotted the familiar shape of Number Three, rising up against the grey sky. He gaped at it, for the familiar curve had slumped at one side. The chimney had drug the surround earth with it when it fell and it all looked very unstable. Bilbo gripped his umbrella tighter. He didn’t like the idea of anyone going up there, or even of being in the front part of the smial.  Never the less he entered the smial without knocking and pushed his way in, anxiously surveying the damage.  
  
“I beg your pardon Gamgees!” he called as he stepped over the toppled barrels of ale. To his relief he saw the Gamgees huddled in the back of the smial, away from the damaged portion of the roof. The Gaffer turned at the sound of his call and gaped at Bilbo as he moved farther into the hole.  
  
“Sir, please keep away from there!” the Gaffer said, his voice agitated as Bilbo picked his way past the fallen stones of the fireplace, Frodo trailing behind him and at the rear Marigold edged along, casting anxious looks about her.  
  
“Terrible business,” Bilbo said gruffly, ignoring the Gaffer’s warning and joined him in the rear, “I’m so very glad none of you were hurt.” He glanced at them all and frowned, “Where is Sam?” He asked.  
  
“Getting supplies from the back shed. We need to get that hole patched,” the Gaffer said, “You didn’t ought to come down here sir, this is dangerous work.”  
  
“All the more reason for the lot of you to get out of this smial while it is being repaired,” Bilbo said sternly as he met Hamfast’s scowl with one of his own.  
  
“The girls are needed here for mopping the floor,” Hamfast said in a low voice, “We can’t let that water stand or we’ll have a rotted floor too.”  
  
“You and I will do that and Frodo and Sam will go up on the roof and patch the hole,” Bilbo told him. “The girls will go to Bag End,” he added. Hamfast’s eyes widened and his cheeks puffed out in indignation. “I won’t hear any arguments Hamfast,” Bilbo said sharply, “There are too many heavy things waiting to fall on someone for my liking.”  
  
“The girls can go up to Bag End,” Hamfast conceded, “But it’s me and Sam on the roof. I’ll not risk Mr. Frodo up there.”  
  
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Frodo said ducking his head, but his eyes were fixed on the Gaffer’s, “but I’m better suited. I’m younger and faster, should anything happen.”  
  
“I don’t like the idea of anyone going up there, especially with the ground so wet,” Bilbo said, “But I see that hole has to be covered and the water stopped.” The back door swung open and Sam emerged from the gloom, soaked. He blinked in surprise to see the Bagginses and Bilbo noted his eyes went to Frodo and lingered there.  
  
“Sirs,” he greeted briskly. Bilbo almost smiled in approval. Samwise could be excitable and emotional at times, but he had always been remarkably calm and efficient in emergencies. “Da, the door is just too heavy. I don’t like the thought of putting it up there on that soft earth. It could do more harm.”  
  
“We need sailcloth,” Frodo said. The two Gamgees turned and stared at him.  
  
“Sailcloth?” Sam asked dumbly. Frodo turned to Bilbo. Bilbo nodded his approval.  
  
“Second to last closet on the left of my wardrobe,” Bilbo said and Frodo set off, rushing out the door without an umbrella. Bilbo turned back to the Gamgees, still bewildered, though Sam had closed his mouth and was looking thoughtfully at the door where Frodo had disappeared.  
  
“I bought several hundreds of yards of the stuff for tent making,” Bilbo explained, “Men use it for ship sails, so it's water proof. I thought it would do very well for making tents that keep the wet out better than our simple linen ones.” The Gaffer still looked horrified, either from the mention of boats or that Bilbo was intending to use some expensive foreign material to cover the hole in his roof. Sam looked more interested.  
  
“It’s very kind of you sir,” he said, “I’ll just go and find something we can use to stake it.” With that he set off again out the back door and disappeared. Hamfast’s glare had not faded. The Gamgee girls were clustering in the smial kitchen, being very still and trying to not rouse attention. Probably a good idea on their part, Bilbo thought, but the Gaffer’s ire was directed solely at him.  
  
“I’m sorry Ham. I know I’m coming in and bullying you about in your own hole, as I have no business doing,” Bilbo said in a placating tone, “But I cannot bear the thought of you falling off that roof. I would be a terrible ass if I didn’t do everything in my power to make sure the lives and property of my favorite tenants are protected.”  
  
“I see that sir,” the Gaffer said slowly, “And I’ll go along with it, cause I know you’re wiser, but you cannot send Mr. Frodo up there. I won’t be having that,” he growled.  
  
“Oh Ham, let’s trust the boys. They’re capable and smart, and they won’t let anything happen to the other.” Bilbo asked wearily. He put his hand against Hamfast’s back as the other scowled at the floor. Hamfast was about to answer when there was a crack and Bilbo turned to see a new stream of water pouring in through the ceiling. The girls cried out in alarm and Marigold rushed forward, grabbing a wool blanket from the fire bench and climbed up to plug the hole.  
  
“Mari! Get away from there lass,” the Gaffer shouted, but even as he did Bilbo watched in horror as the stones above her shifted again.  
  
A courage that he had not called on in fifty years flared in Bilbo and without a thought he leapt up and caught the girl in his arms. Marigold let out a shreik of fear as the stones began to fall around them, but Bilbo unsteadily pulled her down and away, tucking the girl under his shoulders to protect her. He felt the smaller stones hitting his shoulders and back, but he never felt the one that knocked him into unconscious blackness.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam rummaged in the back shed, cursing under his breath. He had long wooden tent spikes in here somewhere he was sure-  
  
“Ah!” he cried in delight as he shifted a watering can and found the box with the spikes. Triumphantly he hauled it out and set off for the smial once more. He endured the brief wet before pausing at the back door to open the slippery nob and duck in. The scene that met him there was entirely changed from how he left it.  
  
Bilbo Baggins lay sprawled on the floor and the Gaffer was dragging him away from the fireplace, away from a larger pile of stone, and Mari lay by the old master, crying and looking down on him, clutching her ankle. Daisy and May were pulling at her, and then Daisy moved to help the Gaffer drag Bilbo into the kitchen. Sam let out a cry and rushed in, going to the kitchen to kneel over Bilbo, and note with horror the blood smeared across his left cheek.  
  
“What’s happened?” he demanded.  
  
“The master was hit in the head,” Hamfast said painfully and turned away from Bilbo, “Mari-dear,” he held his arms out and Mari rose, limping to go to her father, falling into his arms, still crying. “Sweet lass, are you hurt?”  
  
“My ankle is twisted, but, oh da! Is Mr. Bilbo-”  
  
“He’s alive,” Sam said, his hand against Bilbo’s neck, feeling a strong pulse there and was watching the slight rise and fall of his master’s chest. None of that meant that Bilbo wasn’t seriously injured though and he bit his lip, feeling panicked and stupid for not knowing what to do, for not being here to stop this, for-  
  
The door opened and Frodo’s voice came floating toward him from far away.  
  
“I cut five yards. I thought that would be-” Frodo stopped and Sam closed his eyes flushing in pain and shame. He was not brave enough to look at Frodo just now.  
  
“Mr. Frodo, come here,” he heard his father’s voice, “Mr. Bilbo’s hurt, but he’s alive.” There was no cry, no sound at all from Frodo, only the slow footsteps and then the sound of Frodo sitting on his knees close by. Sam opened his eyes and saw Frodo’s gaze locked on Bilbo, his eyes wide in horror and shock.  
  
“What happened?” he murmured weakly and put a hand on his uncle’s chest.  
  
“Some of the ceiling stones fell and struck him. He's been knocked out cold,” Hamfast’s voice came and it had dropped to a low soothing tone that Sam had almost never heard. He reached up and found the bucket of water they kept in the kitchen and pulled it down beside him. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and dipping it in the water lay the wet cloth over Bilbo’s forehead. Doing something practical was far better than watching Frodo’s face. “He saved Mari from getting hurt,” the Gaffer added, “The ceiling stones would have fallen on her, had he not been there.” He clutched Mari tighter.  
  
“Bilbo, you foolish brave old thing,” Frodo said quietly and though he was aiming for lightness in his tone, his voice betrayed how close he was to tears.  
  
“There now Mr. Frodo,” the Gaffer said and reached out to lay a comforting hand on Frodo’s back, “He’s alright. Mr. Bilbo won’t be beat by a few stones. He’s stood up to far worse. You just be easy now.”  
  
“Yes of course,” Frodo managed and hid his face. Sam couldn’t bear it any longer. He slid over and took Frodo’s hand in his. Frodo didn’t look up, but he clutched Sam’s hand, squeezing tightly.  
  
“Ofph. Why am I on the floor?”  
  
Sam turned back and saw that Bilbo’s eyes were open and the master was trying to sit up. He stopped and closed his eyes tightly looking dizzy and put a hand to his head. Everyone was so surprised that for a moment there was silence, then Frodo broke it with a happy cry and leaned over Sam to clasp his uncle’s shoulder.  
  
“Bilbo!” he said happily, “You’ve taken a solid knock to the head, you know! You ought not to be moving about like that.” Bilbo paled and slid back down muttering,  
  
“Now you tell me,” he sighed, “I feel as if a troll kicked me. Where am I? Oh hello, Sam,” he added catching sight of the young gardener bent over him.  
  
“You’re in Number Three, sir. Don’t you remember?” Sam asked anxiously.  
  
“No. And I don’t care to try,” Bilbo said softly as he winced. “I’d rather not remember whatever I was doing to end up this way. It was probably something very foolish.”  
  
“No sir,” the Gaffer said, “It was very brave what you did, and I shant ever forget it.” Bilbo opened his eyes and glanced down near his feet.  
  
“Oh, you’re here too Hamfast?” he said smiling, “I wonder if I could trouble you for a bed or some other place more comfortable than your floor. Bad back you know.”  
  
“Sam, help Mr. Bilbo up,” the Gaffer said, standing himself, “Go slow and take him to my room,” he added. Gingerly Sam helped Bilbo sit up, and Frodo moved to his other side, slipping an arm under Bilbo’s shoulder.  
  
“You’ll have to tell me all about it later, Frodo-lad,” Bilbo was saying, “If it’s as good as all that I might have to add it to the book.” Frodo smiled at his uncle and turned to look toward the Gamgee sisters, who were standing awkwardly to the side.  
  
“Would one of you be kind enough to run into town and see if Miss Marchbanks would come down here?” he asked. Miss Francoa Marchbanks was the local healer, and formerly one of Bilbo’s most persistent suitors.  
  
“No need for that,” Bilbo grumbled irritably as Frodo and Sam led him deeper into the smial.  
  
“Every need, uncle,” Frodo said stiffly.  
  
“But not Fanny!” Bilbo insisted, “There’s Mica Goodbody.”  
  
“I’m not sending the girls to Bywater when Hobbiton will do!” Frodo said and drug Bilbo into the Gaffer’s room. Bilbo muttered a curse and Sam grinned, feeling his heart lighten. Bilbo’s cursing always lifted his spirits, as long as he wasn’t the one Bilbo was cursing at.  
  
“Are you still dizzy?” Frodo asked as they neared the bed, ignoring Bilbo’s curses.  
  
“A bit,” Bilbo admitted, “But it’s much better. I’ll just rest a moment and I’ll be fine. Don’t fuss lad.” Frodo gave him a worried look as they helped Bilbo sit on the Gaffer’s bed.  
  
“Do you remember coming down to Number Three yet?” he asked.  
  
“Now what does that matter?” Bilbo huffed as he lay down, “Go on, leave me be for a bit and let me rest. Go bother Sam, he has far more tolerance for your fussing moods.” Frodo smiled and glanced at Sam, they’re eyes meeting. Sam grinned back, abashed.  
  
“My moods have nothing to do with wanting you looked after,” Frodo said quietly turning back to Bilbo, “Rest well. I’m glad you’re all right,” he added quietly. Bilbo’s gruffness faded at this and he smiled up at his heir.  
  
“Dear lad,” he sighed and squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “Go on now. Don’t be silly, worrying over your old cousin.” The two looked at one another for a long moment and Sam felt his cheeks go hot as he got the distinct impression that he was watching something private. But then Bilbo’s gaze shifted to Sam and he smiled just as warmly. “Don’t you worry either Sam-lad. I took a much worse knock to the head at the Battle of the Five Armies when I was up on Ravenhill, defending the Elvenking.”  
  
“You were also fifty years younger and had a helm that time,” Frodo commented dryly as he pull the blankets up around Bilbo’s shoulders.  
  
“And a thick skull. Which I still have,” Bilbo said and shooed him away. “Now go away, both of you.” Frodo paused and glanced back at the door, stilling for a moment, then his backbone straightened and he turned away, going back into the living smial, calling,  
  
“Very well, come on Sam. Let’s go be useful.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam agreed and followed. They found the Gaffer mopping up the water puddle and giving directions to Daisy and Marigold. May it seems had been the one sent for the healer, and Sam approved, for May was probably the fastest of the Gamgee girls. Frodo stopped and turned to Sam.  
  
“I left the sail cloth at the front entrance. Do you have anything to secure it?” he asked.  
  
“Yes sir. I’ve some tent spikes I think will do the job,” Sam said, with a deep suspicion that Frodo was going to insist on going up with him. He sighed a little, not wanting either Frodo or his father up there with him, particularly.  
  
“Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon,” the Gaffer lifted his chin, fixing Frodo with a scowl, “but you are not going up on that roof. I won’t have you hurt too.”  
  
“Mr. Gamgee,” Frodo said quietly, “The upkeep of these smials falls to the master, and if Bilbo’s unable then it falls to me. I’m terribly sorry all of this has happened, but it is my responsibility to see it all through.” He paused at the Gaffer’s stony look and for a moment Sam held his breath, waiting to see which of them would give in to the other.  
  
“This is not your or anyone’s fault Mr. Frodo, aside from mine. I didn’t know the structure beams had rotted out. Sam was the only one who thought different,” he said in a low voice, “Telling workers how and when things is to be done, aye, that’s your place as master. It isn’t your place to go taking blame for something you couldn’t have known, and it is not your place to go risking yourself on some wet half fallen sod roof. What will I tell Mr. Bilbo if sommat happens to you?”  
  
“I’ll be careful Mr. Gamgee, and I’ll do as Sam tells me. I don’t want to be hurt either, but I believe we can do this,” Frodo said.  
  
“Mr. Frodo,” the Gaffer huffed, clearly upset, “It is one thing to be a might peculiar from other gentlehobbits, beg your pardon, but this is plain foolhardy and dangerous!”  
  
“The Bagginses have been accused of worse, master,” Frodo said smiling slightly. “Besides, there are no professional smial builders here for me to order about, and that hole needs coving,” he paused and added,  
  
“And after we get that taken care of, I want all of you up at Bag End. You’ll need to stay there tonight.” Sam went still and stared at the pair of them. The Gaffer frowned deeply and was about to protest when Frodo said quickly, “We can discuss that later, but right now Sam and I need to get that hole patched.” The Gaffer sighed and fixed Frodo in a stern look.  
  
“Go and do it before I think better of all this,” he said at last.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said smiling tightly, “I promise Mr. Gamgee, someday I’ll make up for all the bother I cause you.” The Gaffer only raised his eyebrows and did not answer. He turned away and began ordering Marigold to take Bilbo some water. Frodo cast a quick look at Sam and tilted his head to the door. Wordlessly they headed out into the rain.  


♦

  
Sam tugged at the sailcloth, and set his heel down against a spot in the ground that felt stable. He clenched his jaw, studying the cloth and the ground and frowned. This cloth had no holes for the steaks, and he should have thought to cut some before they came up on the hill. Across the hole Frodo stood, holding onto the other end of the cloth, eyeing it dubiously. Both of them were soaked and Frodo’s hair kept dripping in his eyes.  
  
“You hold that end still, sir, I’m going to cut some holes for the steaks,” Sam shouted above the rain. Frodo nodded and crouched down, holding the sailcloth to the ground while Sam dug in his pocket for his knife. Pulling the blade out he bent and began cutting holes every few feet along the cloth sides. He would have to hope that the cloth wasn’t delicate enough to tear once the steaks were planted.  
  
“Shall I cut holes on this side?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Yes. Have you a knife?” Sam asked, looking up. Frodo shot him an indignant look.  
  
“Of course I have,” he said and stood, pulling out his own pocket knife.  
  
“Cut a hole every ell or so,” he directed and bent back to his own holes. When he had finished to his satisfaction Sam reached for his toolbox and found a mallet and took one of the steaks in his hand. Frowning he set the steak in the hole and began gently pounding it down into the sod. It went easily for the first few inches, but then stuck in the hard, and Sam hoped, dry tight packed clay. Though he wasn't hammering hard the wet soil around him shifted with each blow and Sam had to hold tight to the tent spike as he slid backward. It felt dangerous and uncomfortable, but he finished quickly with the spike and dug his heels into the mud as he moved over to the next hole.  
  
“I can start on this side,” Frodo offered.  
  
“No sir, I’d rather do this bit,” Sam told him, without looking up from his hammering. Frodo wouldn’t have his practiced hand and conditions made it easy for mistakes. Sam himself was having a hard time keeping water and mud out of his eyes and he had come near to hitting his fingers on several occasions already. “I need you to hold the sail cloth taught,” he shouted over the rain.  
  
“It will be taught once I get a spike into the ground on this side, and there are two mallets in your box,” Frodo protested, “We’ll get this done far quicker if I help.”  
  
“Quick ain’t what I’m aiming for,” Sam said. “If you’ll just hold the cloth I’ll have these spikes drove down in no time.”  
  
“Sam,” Frodo said, an edge or irritation in his voice. Sam looked up and frowned. He hadn’t been paying terribly close attention to Frodo’s protests but now he felt irritation of his own. Didn’t Frodo trust him to know what he was doing? Didn’t Frodo know that he didn’t have to prove anything, at least not to Sam?  
  
“And you’re not doing as I tell you,” Sam said. Frodo stared at him in surprise for a moment, and Sam felt suddenly badly. Frodo was only trying to help him, but before he could apologize Frodo shook his head.  
  
“You’re quite right. I’m sorry,” he said. Sam bent back down to the tent spikes feeling unsettled by his own bluntness, a bluntness that he probably wouldn’t have let show a few weeks ago, and wanted to apologize. But the rain was picking up again and he would have to shout to be heard. Besides, he wanted this job done and he could smooth things over with Frodo later, if his feelings had been hurt.  
  
He finished the spikes on his side and stood carefully, not liking how precarious it felt to be upright. Gingerly he made his way to Frodo’s side and crouched down again to begin putting the stakes in. Frodo, beside him was a silent but comforting presence and Sam felt easier, knowing Frodo would be there to haul him up if he slipped.  
  
He finished the second side quicker than the first and moved back to the tool box, standing to look down on the sailcloth. Frodo stood as well.  
  
“I think that’s the best we can do for now,” Sam said slowly, “It’s too wet out here.”  
  
“Let’s go down then and see if it’s holding the water,” Frodo said in his ear, “And reassure your father.” Sam turned and gave him a smile, seeing an answering warmth in Frodo’s eyes. They made their way down, sliding a bit at the steepest parts of the smial slope. Sam slid down the last quart of the slope and smeared mud over the entire backside of his trousers and some of his shirt. Frodo faired a little better, but by the time they reached flat ground both were caked in mud from the knees down. Sam let Frodo take the tool box from him and set it out of the rain on the back porch. They both clambered onto the porch and caught their breath.  
  
“I think your Daisy will kill us if we go inside,” Frodo remarked.  
  
“Well, if it were an ordinary day, aye,” Sam agreed and met Frodo’s eyes hesitantly. “I’m sorry I was sharp with you,” he said softly. Frodo looked surprised at this and smiled.  
  
“Don’t be sorry. I deserved the reminder,” he told Sam. “Come on, help me convince your father to come up to Bag End.” Sam hummed thoughtfully and moved toward the door.  
  
“I’ll try, but da won’t like it one bit,” he said. They went in and Sam hung back, looking down at his filthy toes. Frodo strode ahead and was met by the Gaffer who, as soon as he saw Frodo unharmed, looked extremely relieved.  
  
“There you are Mr. Frodo,” the Gaffer said, “Miss Mica is here.” Frodo followed after the Gaffer and disappeared into the other smial. Marigold met Sam’s eyes and looked down at his feet and wrinkled her nose.  
  
“Give me a cloth, Mari,” Sam mumbled and cast a look at Daisy, who was busy moping. Marigold smiled at him and went to the kitchen, taking a stack of folded linens and passed them to him.  
  
“Get Mr. Frodo to mop himself up,” she murmured.  
  
“Hm,” Sam acknowledged and went into the Gaffer’s room where Frodo had gone. Miss Mica was sitting by the bed, holding Bilbo’s wrist and squinting as she took his pulse. Miss Mica had a pile of grey hair on top of her head and small spectacle perched on her nose. She had a kind round face, and Sam had always liked her, ever since he had been seven years old and had come down with a fever. Miss Mica had visited Number Three every day for a week until Sam had been well again.  
  
“Is it alright to move him?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Oh I think so,” she said and gave Bilbo an indulgent look.  
  
“I’m not dizzy anymore,” Bilbo stated giving Frodo a look from under his eyebrows.  
  
“But you still can’t remember what happened,” Frodo pointed out.  
  
“Well, that’s just how these things are, Mr. Frodo,” Miss Mica said fixing the young master in her gaze, “You can’t expect the head to take a knock like that and recover immediately. And for one of Mr. Bilbo’s age he is recovering remarkably quickly.” She turned to Bilbo and squinted at him. “That doesn’t mean you’re ready to go walk to Frogmorton, sir.”  
  
“I didn’t say anything about Frogmorton,” Bilbo grumbled. Sam slipped in quietly and took up his place by Frodo’s side, passing him a towel. Frodo took it absently and began scrubbing at his feet and shins.  
  
“Alright, let’s start this trek up the hill,” he said and straightened, turning to the Gaffer. “Mr. Gamgee, will you help me get everyone ready?” The Gaffer gave Frodo a long look.  
  
“Yes sir, but if you’ll come with for a moment. There’s some business I want to ask you about.” Sam paused from wiping his knees to glance up at them. Frodo was nodding.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said and followed the Gaffer out. He heard the Gaffer pause and tell the girls to pack a bag. Then, there was the sound of the back door closing. Sam let out a breath, feeling worried for Frodo.  
  
“Sam-lad,” Bilbo said and Sam looked up at his master, sitting on the bed, while Miss Mica measured out her bandage linen. “Come hold the lantern for Miss Mica, would you?” he asked.  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said and went to the bedside table.  
  
“Oh, let me go and ask the Gamgee girls if they have any goldenseal salve, I’ll be right back Mr. Bilbo,” Miss Mica said, rising. Sam watched her go and bit his lip. He couldn’t remember if they had any, though Daisy would know.  
  
“What’s this business your father had with Frodo, do you know?” Bilbo asked him in an undertone. Sam glanced down at him.  
  
“I don’t know,” he murmured, “But I thought da would fight him about going up to Bag End.”  
  
“Ham said Frodo was talking about having all of you stay the night up there,” Bilbo said slowly, “He didn’t seem enthused but I think I may have convinced him that keeping his family in a smial likely to fall in is a bad idea.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam agreed.  
  
“I had to promise him use of Number One for the duration of the repairs,” Bilbo murmured, “But I want it checked out before we go moving your belongings in there. No telling the state of it.” Sam gave him a surprised look. Number One hadn’t been used since old Gaffer Mudfoot died three years ago. Bilbo hadn’t felt particularly pressured to bring in a new tenant and so the hole had sat unused the past years.  
  
“That’s kind of you, sir. Thank you,” he said. Bilbo waved hand distractedly as Miss Mica returned and Sam held the lantern up while she cleaned and bandaged the cut over Bilbo’s left ear. He heard the back door open and close and his father’s voice speaking in a low rumble.  
  
“Yes sir. Thank you,” Frodo answered. The Gaffer appear in the doorway.  
  
“Sam-lad when you’re done there pack a bag for yourself and help Mr. Frodo take Mr. Bilbo up the hill.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said and couldn’t help but glance at Frodo as he moved into the room to watch Miss Mica. Frodo met his eyes briefly and gave a quick smile.  
  
“Almost done, Mr. Frodo and then you can take him home,” Miss Mica said.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said stepping close, “Sam, I can hold the lantern. You go get packed.” Sam handed it to him and thanked him as he left. This all felt terribly strange, he reflected. To be on his way up to Bag End to spend the night no less, something he hadn’t done since he was a child, and then to live at Number One until Number Three’s roof was rebuilt, and it would need rebuilding, Sam had seen that with a sinking heart as soon as he set foot up there. It was amazing the sort of damage that water could do to a smial.  
  
Despite Bilbo’s protests Sam suspected Number One could be inhabited immediately, but he wasn’t going to go argue with the master, especially when he knew some part of Frodo and Bilbo’s motivations for moving the Gamgees up to Bag End for the night was comfort. He knew Bilbo would like their company and the excuse to cook and entertain them after something so dreadful. Frodo would be happy to have them out of harm’s way, and would likely appreciate having others to help keep an eye on Bilbo. And of course, there was the excuse to spend time together, though not as Sam had envisioned it earlier in the day. He and Frodo would likely have no time alone for quite some time.  
  
Sam’s bag was packed quickly and slinging it over his back, he went to help Frodo steady Bilbo as he rose. Bilbo swatted them away and insisted he could walk and unsteadily made his way out of the bedroom. The Gaffer glanced at them as they made their way past the ruble to the front door.  
  
“We’ll join you up the hill in a bit, sirs,” Hamfast said.  
  
“See that you do Ham,” Bilbo called back, “Or I’ll send my lad down after you.” To Sam’s surprise his father laughed loudly at this.  
  
“Yes sir,” Ham said as they left and Frodo closed the door behind them. Miss Mica nodded to Frodo as she picked her way through the wet garden.  
  
“You send for me if there is any change,” she reminded, “By tomorrow he’ll be past any danger.”  
  
“Yes Miss Mica, thank you,” Frodo said and passed her a little coin purse. The healed pocketed it discreetly and gave him a kind smile.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo, you take it easy now and don’t be worrying Mr. Frodo,” she said.  
  
“I shant Mica-dear,” Bilbo assured her and with one last smile the healer turned away and began walking back up the road to Hobbiton and Bywater.  
  
“I thought you were sending for Miss Marchbanks,” Sam said frowning as the healer disappeared. Frodo rolled his eyes as Bilbo chuckled.  
  
“Luckily, May took pity on me and ran to Bywater, despite what Frodo said,” Bilbo exclaimed cheerfully.  
  
“Well, you ought to thank May then,” Frodo said, “I didn’t mean for her to run all the way there just to save time.”  
  
“I did thank her,” Bilbo sniffed. “Now what did Hamfast want that was so urgent?” he asked. Frodo gave him an uncomfortable look and dug his hands in his pockets.  
  
“Just that, he didn’t want anything improper to happen with me and Sam while the girls were up there,” he murmured. Sam blushed hard and groaned.  
  
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. Bilbo laughed, seemingly unable to help himself, even when Frodo scowled at him.  
  
“Oh, poor Ham,” Bilbo said between snorts.  
  
“Begging pardon sir,” Sam said, joining Frodo in his scowl, “but it’s not all that funny.”  
  
“Well, I don’t suppose it is to either of you,” Bilbo admitted, “But trying to imagine Ham balancing his tone between the sternness of a father addressing his son’s suitor and the tone he uses for addressing the master’s heir would be a treat.”  
  
“That’s not how I would describe it,” Frodo said coolly and Bilbo paused to glance at his nephew, smiling wryly.  
  
“Oh Frodo. I’m sorry,” he said, “Let’s have elevensies when we get up, shall we?” Frodo’s frown eased and he nodded.  
  
“That sounds wonderful. I’m starving after all that,” he said and glanced at Sam, giving him an entreating look. “Would you cook an omelet for me, Sam? With mushrooms? I love your omelets,” he said, his voice full of the charm Sam had seen him use on others when Frodo truly wanted his way. Sam’s head spun from catching the full effect of it.  
  
“Yes sir,” he sighed dazedly, “I’ll make you anything you like.” The smile he got was reward enough as Frodo gazed at him from Bilbo’s other side, clasping his uncle’s hand.  


♦

  
The rain had not let up by late afternoon. Sam stood in the kitchen and watched the water pour down over the kitchen window frames and glowered at the torrent. It was not content to only pull down Number Three’s chimney, now it was out to drown his seedlings. And there was nothing Sam could do about it.  
  
“You look like you eat a lemon and was aiming for a plum,” came the sound of his father’s voice. Sam turned and saw the Gaffer enter the kitchen and sit down.  
  
“The garden is waterlogged,” Sam said quietly. He knew his father would not be impressed by this. The Gaffer had dealt with far worse disasters to the garden everything from ice storms to high winds and drought. The fact that Sam’s freshly planted seedlings, specially selected flowers meant to burst up in bloom over the next few months would all be uprooted and likely parish in this torrent would be shrugged off by the pragmatic Hamfast. “Plants can be replanted and replaced with heartier things,” would be the response. Sam suddenly wanted to go to Frodo with his worries, for even if Frodo didn’t understand them, he would be sympathetic. But Frodo was in conference with the Hobbiton and Bywater Builder’s Alliance and had been closeted in his study making arrangements for the better part of the afternoon.  
  
“Well, plants can be replanted,” Hamfast said in low voice. Sam smiled faintly and went to sit with his father.  
  
“Want some tea, da? I just made this pot,” Sam said gently. The Gaffer raised his eyebrows.  
  
“Making free with the master’s tea are you?” he growled. Sam laughed.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo asked for it, but then he fell asleep,” he said. The Gaffer eased.  
  
“Aye well. He’s fair wore himself out,” he said. “That walk back up the hill took more out of him than he’d like us to think and then he wouldn’t stop pulling linens out of cupboards and trying to dress beds until Mr. Frodo threatened to lock him in his room.” Sam blinked and stifled a chuckle. He had missed all that, having gone deep into the larder to gather the ingredients for omelet. “Mr. Bilbo is a good one and no mistake. I’m glad you’ve got to know him so well Sam-lad.”  
  
“Me too, da,” Sam said, a little surprised as he poured the tea. He had always thought his dad had been unhappy about how close he and Bilbo had become. Sam handed his father the cup.  
  
“Even… Even if he’s a bit of a caution,” the Gaffer furrowed his eyebrows and stared at the table. Sam paused and watched the conflict play out over his father’s face in silence. “It don’t make me easy, where all this has led for you,” the Gaffer said. Sam looked down too and bit his lip.  
  
“I know da,” he murmured.  
  
“Maybe it would have been better if you were born a lass,” the Gaffer said quietly. Sam took a short breath and his chest clenched in pain. He was rooted to the chair, unable to say anything, or even look at his father, but he heard the Gaffer sigh long and low. “You’re my favorite, of all my lads and lasses, you know.” The tightness eased in Sam enough for him to look up, but he grimaced in confusion.  
  
“Sir,” he murmured. The Gaffer shook his head and rose.  
  
“Don’t mind me, Sam,” he said, “I’m just an old hobbit gardener. I don’t know enough to go telling you how to live.” With that he turned and left the kitchen, leaving Sam still clutching the table, staring after him.  
  
After a moment Sam cleared his throat and rose, deciding that he should start cooking for the afternoon and evening meals. He went to the stove and took down a large pot setting it carefully on the burner and put his hands on the stove edge. He let out a long sigh and swiped at his cheeks, where tears had fallen, leaving sticky trails and straightened.  
  
He would make vegetable soup, he decided.  


♦

  
The girls had taken up first in the parlor and had spent the first part of the afternoon cleaning and dusting and mending whatever they found that looked as if it were in need of attention. This turned out to be quite a lot of things, for Sam had never concerned himself with dusting and mending holes in pillows when there was gardening, cooking, and any number of more useful tasks to set his hands to. But by the time Sam started in on the soup Daisy had discovered what he was up to and decided that she would help.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo might like a bit more than soup,” she said lightly, “I’ll make biscuits, and I think May was settin’ to make a pie.” Sam had helped her find the ingredients and before long the kitchen was filled with the smells of warm baking and the soothing aroma of roasting potatoes, carrots, celery, onions, and beans, seasoned with thyme sprigs and ground black pepper. Sam stared down into the pot lost in the smells that washed over his senses.  
  
The noise from the hall increased as Frodo’s study door opened and the procession of five or so hobbits from the Bywater Hole Builder Company trooped past, talking loudly and calling their goodbyes. Sam shot a frown toward the hall, wondering if Bilbo was still sleeping.  
  
“S’alright Sam,” Daisy said catching sight of his expression, “I took Mr. Bilbo some tea not ten minutes ago and he was awake. Da was in there with him.”  
  
“Hm,” Sam hummed, returning his gaze to the stew.  
  
“What’s going on between you and da?” Daisy asked softly.  
  
“Nothing,” Sam murmured. Daisy clicked her tongue and fixed him with a hard look. Sam turned and met it staring back. May breezed in, holding a box of blueberries, humming as she did. “You can ask May,” he said, “She’s gone and told cousin Lily all about it.” May froze and stared at him, her mouth open. Daisy whirled on her and grinned.  
  
“Oh aye? Let’s have it then,” Daisy said, but May’s face had drained of color.  
  
“This ain’t the place to be talking on that,” she said faintly.  
  
“No it ain’t,” Sam growled at her, “And neither is Lily’s kitchen. I had to deal with cousin Ponto cause of you.” May looked pained and set the fruit basket down, wringing her hands.  
  
“Ah Sam, I’m sorry,” she said. “I weren’t meaning harm. I was trying to help.”  
  
“Well I’m not wanting help,” Sam told her in a low hard voice, “Don’t gossip about me. I didn’t think I had to watch me back around me own sisters.” May’s mouth set in a hard line.  
  
“I weren’t meaning you harm,” she said again, “you know me better’n that. Don’t growl at me for sommat cousin Ponto done.” Sam closed his mouth and paused for a moment.  
  
“Aye,” he said at last, “that’s fair. But harm come of it cause of what you passed on. How did you find out anyway?”  
  
“Da,” May said shortly and stared at him, her hard look not softening. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore Samwise. Not here especially.” She turned and walked back toward the larder, disappearing into the depths of the pantry. Daisy chuckled and Sam frowned at her.  
  
“Ah Sam, leave her be,” she said, “This seems like some heavy sort of thing between all of you,” she added.  
  
“It… aye. That it is,” he sighed, “Sorry Daisy. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”  
  
“Just not now?” she pressed.  
  
“It’s best not to,” he said and went back to the stove. Daisy was silent for a long moment then he heard her move to his side and felt her hand on his back.  
  
“Sammy, don’t look so glum, whatever it is it can’t be as bad as all that,” she told him in a soft voice, “Everyone you care about is alive and well and together under this very sturdy sod roof.” Sam smiled at that.  
  
“Aye,” he agreed. She patted his back.  
  
“It sounds as if Mr. Frodo’s meeting is over. Why don’t you take him some tea? I bet he’d like that, and talking to him always cheers you. I’ll watch your stew.” Sam looked up at her and gave her a heartfelt smile.  
  
“Thank you Daisy,” he said and pressed a kiss to her cheek.  
  
Balancing a tray Sam set off down the hall a few minutes later and slipped quietly into Frodo’s study. He heard voices from outside but the meeting seemed to be officially done with so he didn’t feel too uncomfortable entering. Inside Frodo stood next to his desk and chatted with a small plump hobbit, who’s arms were full of rolled up drawings. Sam sat the tea tray down and watched them, admiring his master. Frodo had his back to the door and had not seen Sam yet, but Sam could tell he was tired by the tension in his shoulders, though he stood up straight and his voice was strong.  
  
“-rolling is a fine way to store oversized parchment, but eventually it gets so old and cracked that you can’t unroll it without damaging it. I’ve seen rolled paper crack and crumble,” Frodo was telling him. At some point after lunch Frodo had bathed and changed into a stiff high collar shirt with a crisp weskit and coat, though he was down to shirt sleeves at this point, and his cravat had been loosened. Sam knew Frodo didn’t like the stiff collars and cravats, but they made him look so dignified it still filled Sam with a sense of awe to see him decked out like that. The other hobbit nodded in agreement.  
  
“Seen the very thing myself too sir,” he said, “and I tells them it can’t be a good way to store the drawings we want to be keeping around, oh it will do for most smial plans for we don’t particularly need them after the hole is built, but we lost the drawings for Bracebourne Hole that way.” The smaller hobbit pushed his glasses up on his nose and shook his head mournfully. “When we done that addition Mr. Bracegurdle wanted t’would have saved us a lot of time to have the old drawings. As it was we had to draw a whole new set. We've got them stored flat now, in a large drawer. Next to the drawer with Bag End’s plans, actually.”  
  
“You have a copy of Bag End’s plans? I thought Bag End was built by the Frogmorten company, what was it?”  
  
“Rowhobbler and Sons,” the smaller hobbit sniffed, “They went out of business you know, after the father died and we inherited the plans.”  
  
“Well, it’s good to know someone is looking after them,” Frodo said, “I do hope Bilbo has a set.”  
  
“He has three sets,” the hobbit chuckled, “And I hear one of them is accurate. Secret passages you know. Old Mr. Bungo didn’t even let the smial planner know where they all are.” Frodo laughed at this and stuck his hand out.  
  
“It has been a pleasure Mr. Grubb,” he said as the other hobbit shook his hand.  
  
“The same Mr. Frodo,” Grubb answered, “I do hope we can get this business sorted quickly. We all want the Gamgees settled again.”  
  
“As do I,” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“And if I may say,” Grubb added quietly, “You do Mr. Bilbo proud. You’ll make a fine master someday.” Frodo paused for a moment.  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Grubb,” he said, “I appreciate you saying that.” The other hobbit smiled widely and turned away calling a goodbye as he went, brushing past Sam with a nod. Sam nodded back to him and watched the small hobbit go down the hall, a warm feeling welling in his heart.  
  
“Sam,” Frodo said and Sam turned to see Frodo’s face lit with delight, despite how tired he looked. Frodo crossed the room and slid his hand into Sam’s, squeezing his fingers. Sam grinned.  
  
“I brought you tea,” he said.  
  
“I see that,” Frodo said, “can you stay for a bit?” he asked.  
  
“For a bit. I’m making a stew for dinner but Daisy said she would watch it for me,” Sam said.  
  
“Oh what kind?” Frodo asked as his hand dropped away and he went to the tray.  
  
“Vegetable,” Sam said, watching Frodo pour himself a cup and pick up a cracker to munch.  
  
“How is Bilbo?” he asked, pulling his desk chair our and taking a seat. Sam pulled one of the study chairs around to the side of the desk and settled.  
  
“Last I saw sleeping, though that was maybe an hour back. Daisy took him tea a few minutes ago and said he was up.”  
  
“Good,” Frodo sighed into the steam of his cup. Sam studied him fondly.  
  
“You look tired. Does your head hurt?” he asked. Frodo’s eyes shifted to look at him.  
  
“A little,” he admitted. Two weeks ago Sam would have offered to rub his neck, but Sam didn’t want his father seeing that now.  
  
“I’ll get you something for it,” Sam said and made to rise but Frodo waved him back.  
  
“No. I can get something later. I’d rather you stayed and talked to me,” he said. Sam turned back to him, a little surprised at the plaintive note in Frodo’s voice, when a moment ago he had been so full of hearty cheer and strength. Sam reached across the desk and took Frodo’s hand again.  
  
“You’ve had a hard day, haven’t you?” Sam asked him quietly.  
  
“As have you,” Frodo murmured. He stiffened unexpectedly and drew his hand away. Just as Sam was about to ask why, he heard footsteps in the hall and the grumble of his father’s voice, mixed with Bilbo’s cheerful tones. Bilbo stuck his head in the study and peered at them.  
  
“I smell food. Do you know anything about that Samwise?” he asked.  
  
“Aye sir. It’s vegetable stew with biscuits and I hear rumors of blueberry pie,” Sam answered.  
  
“That sounds wonderful,” Bilbo said.  
  
“Sam, go help your sisters,” the Gaffer said, from behind Bilbo’s shoulder. Sam rose unsteadily.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said and went to the hall entrance, casting one last look back at Frodo.  
  
“Excuse me, sir,” he said. Frodo gave him a rueful smile.  
  
“Thank you for the tea Sam,” he said.  


♦

  
Dinner was a warm jovial affair, mostly thanks to Bilbo. The old master broke out the beer and kept everyone’s glass full. Alcohol combined with good food and cheerful talk and songs eased the tension that had bubbled up over the course of the day and by the end of the meal even the Gaffer leaned back and smiled at the assembled crowd of Gamgees and Bagginses around him.  
  
“Let’s go to the parlor for afters,” Bilbo suggested and rose from the table, clearing the dishes. “Frodo and I are washing up and I’ll not hear a word about it. You all go into the parlor and May, take that pretty pie in there and see if you can’t find some desert plates. We must have some about somewhere.” He turned, “Sam would you brew us all some tea? That kind that tastes of cinnamon and fig, you know the one? There’s a good lad.”  
  
The Gamgees sat comfortably in the parlor, the Gaffer seated in Bilbo’s second best reading chair while the other Gamgee children sat on the sofa or on the floor near the fire place. Sam set the tea pot down with the steeping tea and lit the oil lamps before taking a place on the floor, crossing his legs under him. From the kitchen came Bilbo’s voice, singing a song of his own invention about washing dishes. Marigold giggled and nudged him.  
  
“Does Mr. Bilbo have a song for everything?” she asked cheekily. The Gaffer growled wordlessly and Mari closed her mouth tightly, but was still smiling as she looked up to meet her father’s frown. She giggled again and set her head on his knee, peering at Sam as she did.  
  
“Saucy lass,” Sam muttered at her and watched as the Gaffer leaned out to pat Marigold’s head. Daisy glanced over at them from her position on the sofa and smiled faintly before turning to her sister beside her.  
  
“May, get the pie ready for Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo,” Daisy said. May bent and sliced the thick golden crush with a pie knife looking troubled as she did so.  
  
“Are the masters to balance their plates in their laps, then?” she asked.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo wants his pie in here, so we’ll have it in here,” the Gaffer said quietly, “Proper or no. That’s Mr. Bilbo’s way.” Sam hid his slight surprise at this statement made so bluntly in the Baggins own parlor, but then his father had partaken in a few mugs. “And it’s not every gentlehobbit would have lasses in the parlor for afters anyway, so mind your manners,” he added. In a few minutes Bilbo appeared in the parlor door, Frodo following quietly behind him.  
  
“Well,” Bilbo sighed as he found his chair, “That was a wonderful meal, dear Gamgees.”  
  
“Would you like some pie now sir?” May asked, sliding a generous piece onto one of the delicate desert plates. Frodo settled on the floor near his uncle’s chair, and leaned tiredly against the soft plush side.  
  
“Yes please,” Bilbo said taking it, “this smells absolutely delicious.”  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” May lifted her eyebrows and cut another slice. Frodo gave her a smile and leaned forward to take the piece she offered.  
  
“Thank you, Miss May,” he said. Bilbo asked about the summer, and if the Gaffer thought it would be a dry one, which launched the old gardener into a long narrative about the summer of '84 when it had not rained, the Gaffer swore, for three months. Bilbo clucked and nodded, adding his own memories. Throughout the conversation Sam let his eyes wander to Frodo, mostly when he was sure his father was distracted enough not to notice him looking. Frodo met his eyes and pressed his cheek to the chair side, drowsy after finishing his pie and smiled slightly at Sam, as if to say, _ah they’ll go on like this all night if nothing stops them._  
  
“Can I take your plate, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked quietly and made to rise. Frodo handed it to him and Sam let their fingers brush. He drew away feeling self-conscious and turned to Marigold. “You done Mari?”  
  
“Yes Sam,” she chirped and handed her plate up to him. The Gaffer passed his own plate up to Sam and he took off for the kitchen.  
  
“Bring the tea cups if you would lad, your tea ought to have steeped by now,” Bilbo called and Sam called back his customary polite acknowledgment. A moment later he was setting down a tray with seven teacups, honey, sugar, lemon, cream, and spoons. He noted his sister’s eyes widening at this, and remembered that they wouldn’t have seen the customary tea service of the Baggins, more used to their own humble pitcher of cream and the odd bit of honey.  
  
“Thank you Sam-lad,” Bilbo said giving him a warm look, “I’ve always said that tea can cure most ills. But you know, a good meal never hurts either.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam answered and resumed his seat near the fireplace. Marigold moved over and leaned against her brother, fixing Bilbo with a hopeful look.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo, will you tell us a story? The way you used to when we were little?” she asked.  
  
“You’re still little, Mari,” Sam teased her in an undertone but she ignored him, her attention on Bilbo. Bilbo considered but before he could answer the Gaffer put in,  
  
“Now, the master might be too tired for all that.”  
  
“No I’m not!” Bilbo said quickly, his tone stubborn, but he paused and looked down at Frodo, “But, well, perhaps I should let Frodo do the honors tonight. Would you mind lad?” he asked. Frodo looked up at his uncle.  
  
“Oh no, I would be glad to. I suppose I ought to get some practice in, after all.” Marigold turned her attention to Frodo.  
  
“Would you tell us one about the elves Mr. Frodo?” she asked, “Sam says you know wonderful stories about them.” In the dim light Frodo’s expression was a little unclear, but Sam thought he looked pleased by this. Beside him, the Gaffer shifted uncomfortably.  
  
“Oh not elves,” Daisy said, then blushing she remember where she was and said quickly, “Begging your pardon and all. I just can’t keep a good picture of an elf in me head. And I can’t understand their ways.” Bilbo chuckled merrily.  
  
“They have a bit of a hard time with hobbit ways, you know,” he murmured.  
  
“What if I told you all a part of There and Back Again, a part with elves?” Frodo suggested.  
  
“I’m sure that would be fine Mr. Frodo,” the Gaffer said, taking his role of speaking for all of them.  
  
“Alright,” Frodo licked his lips unconsciously and sat up a little straighter. Sam smiled at the gesture and leaned against the Gaffer’s chair, pulling Marigold into the crook of his arm. She sighed and lay her head on his shoulder as Frodo began to speak.  
  
“You’ll remember that Bilbo and the dwarves were saved from the trolls by Gandalf the grey wizard,” Frodo began quietly. Bilbo cleared his throat, and with a smile Frodo added, “of course, it was only because Bilbo was so cunning to keep the trolls arguing long enough for Gandalf to save them, that any of them got away at all.” Bilbo settled back and smiling, took out his pipe.  
  
“So the party journeyed on, heading for the Misty Mountains and the Last Homely House of Elrond half-elven, a pretty place called Rivendale. Now, Rivendale is tucked deep in a secret valley and the roads are very easy to get confused…”  
  
Frodo finally ended the tale, describing how Bilbo had squeezed through the goblin door and run out into the tall pines and into freedom from the gloomy tunnels, eager to find his friends once more.  
  
“… and Bilbo stumbled upon his friends, sneaking right into their camp while they mourned his loss. He produced himself and they were all quite happy to see him, especially Gandalf, who had felt terribly sad about their burglar being lost to the goblins. At last, Bilbo proved how very skilled and cunning he was, and the dwarves began to see that there is more to a Baggins than meets the eye.” Frodo took a breath and sank into silence. Bilbo had dozed off and the Gaffer looked as if he were very close to doing the same. Daisy was smiling with a faraway look in her eye and she sat up, peering down at Frodo.  
  
“Oh, Mr. Frodo that was well told. I do like the bit when Mr. Bilbo beats that Gollum creature at riddles,” she murmured. Frodo, who was sipping his cold tea looked up at her and smiled.  
  
“Thank you, Miss Daisy. I like that part too.”  
  
“Well done, sir,” Sam murmured sleepily and Frodo sent him a delighted look.  
  
“Yes sir, that were fine,” the Gaffer said, rousing himself, “But we had best be getting to bed. I think Mr. Bilbo has beat us to it.” Frodo grinned, looking up at his uncle.  
  
“You’ll have to excuse Bilbo, sir. He is after all a centenarian and needs his rest.”  
  
“I don’t sleep past second breakfast,” Bilbo muttered without opening his eyes, “unlike some young scamps I could name.” Frodo only chuckled and rose, stretching. Sam sighed and tightened his hold on Marigold. The girl had fallen asleep somewhere after Bilbo had been lost in the goblin caves. Sam leaned close and shook her shoulder.  
  
“Mari wake up,” he murmured.  
  
“Aw Sam,” Marigold complained drowsily and pushed his hand away. May laughed and stepped around the tea table to pull Marigold from Sam’s side.  
  
“Come along dozy lass,” she said. The girls bid everyone goodnight and went down the hall to the guest room Frodo had prepared for them early in the afternoon. The Gaffer and Sam would share the room next to theirs, Bilbo had told Sam earlier in the evening.  
  
“Your father won’t let me prepare more than two of the bedrooms for you all,” Bilbo had said with some chagrined. “It seems a shame to make the girls all pile into one room.”  
  
“They share a room at home, sir,” Sam had reminded gently. Bilbo had been unimpressed.  
  
“They have their own beds at home,” he grumbled.  
  
“Well that they do sir, but this is just for one night. I know you like to give your guests the best of the best, but my family will feel more comfortable if they think they’re not putting you out any more than they have to,” Sam advised and felt cheeky for saying it, though Bilbo was nodding and looking thoughtful.  
  
“You’re right of course,” Bilbo had said and given him a pat on the shoulder. “Are you alright with the arrangements?” he looked a little sheepish, “I wanted to offer you the little pallet bed at the end of the hall in the old servants quarters, but I think Hamfast wants to keep an eye on you.” Sam had blushed at that. “I’m sorry Sam-lad,” Bilbo said, “But I think we had best humor him.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam had sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in the same room as his dad, even if there was a trundle bed that he would have to himself. His dad snored and snorted and had a habit of passing wind very loudly. Sam could hear him at home through the wall some nights.  
  
Sam rose from his place and began collecting the tea things to take back to the kitchen. When he returned the Gaffer had risen and was working the kinks out of his back. Bilbo was disappearing down the hall, calling,  
  
“Goodnight all.”  
  
“Goodnight sir,” Sam called. Frodo reappeared a moment later from the hallway, having taken the leftover pie to down to the cool cellar. He caught Sam’s gaze as he moved to the window, pulling the shutters closed.  
  
“Goodnight Sam,” he said and turned to the Gaffer, “Goodnight Mr. Gamgee. I hope you both rest well. If there is anything you need in the night please don’t worry about waking me or Bilbo.” The Gaffer nodded politely to Frodo and gave him a tight smile.  
  
“We shan't be needing to do that I’m sure, but thank ‘ee kindly for saying so, sir,” the Gaffer paused a long moment and let out a soft sigh, turning to the hallway. “Sam, help your master close up the hole for the night. Then come on to bed when you’re done.” The Gaffer didn’t look back as he moved out the parlor. “Good night Mr. Frodo,” he said.  
  
“Good night Mr. Gamgee,” Frodo said softly, looking where the Gaffer had disappeared. Sam let out a long breath. He hadn’t expected his father to give him a moment alone with Frodo. Well he didn’t intend to waste it. He stepped close to Frodo’s side and took his hand. Frodo turned to him slowly, his eyes soft. He looked so warm and inviting and handsome in the lamp light, Sam thought.  
  
“You know,” Frodo murmured, “You’re beautiful with your family.” Sam blinked at that, pleased and a little unsure of what Frodo meant. “I suppose I haven’t really seen you with them for long periods, lately. It’s so clear that you all love one another so.” Sam chuckled.  
  
“Aye well, don’t be thinking it’s all sweetness having three sisters and my old grumpy da,” he said. Frodo smiled faintly and leaned against Sam, setting his chin on Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“No, I suppose not,” he said softly.  
  
“You’re beautiful with your family too,” Sam murmured in his ear. He felt Frodo tighten his hold. “You are. And you were so fine and strong today. On the roof with me, doing nasty dangerous work and then in the study with those fancy smial builders, every inch the Master of the Hill.”  
  
“My only aim was not to embarrass myself, on both counts,” Frodo said drawing back and smiling wanly, eye cast down, “I’m glad that you think I didn’t.” There wasn’t any good answer to that so Sam bent and brushed a kiss against Frodo’s forehead, taking the excuse to wind his fingers in the soft brown curls that framed his face. To his surprise Frodo left out a sigh and stilled under his touch. Sam pulled back a bit and peered down into his face to make sure everything was alright only to see Frodo gazing at him with thoughtful eyes, a quiet patient expression, waiting.  
  
_Ah,_ Sam thought, _he’s letting me lead._ Up until this point it had been Frodo who had initiated their physical encounters in one way or another, but tonight was different. Tonight he was pliant in a way that was turning Sam’s backbone to jelly. Experimentally he let his hand drift down along Frodo’s jaw line and pressed gently to tilt his head up for a kiss. Frodo let him without comment, parting his lips as Sam pressed their mouths together.  
  
When Sam’s wits returned he found he was gripping Frodo’s side tightly in a way that had to be uncomfortable, and that he was trembling as Frodo’s hot wet tongue danced along his own in a way that made him want to throw all caution to the wind and push the gentlehobbit against the nearest wall and couple him. Frodo wasn’t helping his resolve. At some point he had stepped closer and inserted a thigh between Sam’s legs, pressing it against his groin. Sam’s attention narrowed to that warm welcome touch as Frodo slid his leg teasingly from side to side. Sam drew his mouth back, trying to regain an amount of control, even as he felt Frodo’s chest rise and fall in quick excitement and heard the soft murmur of need that escaped him when Sam withdrew. He gingerly moved his hips back, but let their foreheads brush, unwilling to lose the closeness as they caught their breaths. He opened his eyes, planning on saying something or smiling but Frodo closed the distance again, and licked Sam’s mouth, entreating him to fall back into a kiss.  
  
“Ah,” Sam cried weakly and stepped away, hating to separate himself from Frodo, but knowing too, that his will would not last much longer if they continued.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Frodo whispered. Sam bit hard on his lip and forced himself to look at Frodo.  
  
“It’s just, da will be looking for me…” he breathed and added, “Oh, don’t be sorry. I love kissing you.” Frodo shook his head, still smiling.  
  
“Kissing is one thing. This,” Frodo paused and shyly looked down at himself, and Sam’s eyes followed, fixing on the ridge of strained cloth tucked under trouser buttons. “It’s not fair of me. When we can’t do anything about it.” Sam let out a soft short whine, unbidden and Frodo looked up, startled. Sam wrenched his eyes away and took deep steadying breaths.  
  
“Sorry,” he gasped and sat on the footstool Bilbo kept near his chair. Sam jumped a little when Frodo touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes to protest, but Frodo shushed him and began rubbing his back.  
  
“Just relax. I’m afraid you’ll have it a bit worse than I, but there’s no helping it,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“Why is it worse for me?” Sam asked. “Cause I’m younger?” Frodo peered at him and chuckled, his cheeks going a becoming pink.  
  
“Well, I was thinking more that you are about to have to go bed down in the same room as your father, while I will have the privacy of my own bedroom.” Sam looked down in embarrassment, but he couldn’t feel too bad with Frodo still rubbing his shoulders like that.  
  
“Oh,” he said abashed. Frodo continued to press gently along the muscles of his shoulders, working at the tense knots with slow patient strokes.  
  
“It won’t always be like this,” Frodo told him quietly, “when I take you to my bed I’ll make sure we have time and privacy. We won’t be worrying about being caught or called away.”  
  
“That sounds wonderful,” Sam murmured. Frodo bent slightly and kissed his ear tip.  
  
“Now, is it better for you to sit here still for a bit or help me close the shutters?” Frodo asked him.  
  
“Close the shutters,” Sam said, rising, “t’will take me mind off… that is, doing something practical always helps me.” Frodo nodded slightly.  
  
“I’ll take the kitchen and dining room, and if you would check the front hall and the library. We’ll meet in the study.”  
  
“Alright,” Sam said and went to his appointed tasks. In the summer, most hobbits left their windows open, and Bilbo allowed the bedroom windows to stay open, but he didn’t care for summer breezes in the other rooms. The villagers said it was because Bilbo was suspicious of thieves, but Sam knew it was because Bilbo didn’t like for his papers to be blown around or for his books to be exposed to damp night air.  
  
Sam moved from room to room, willing his mind away from what had just happened, but he couldn’t. It took his breath away that he had aroused Frodo, and that Frodo had openly admitted it, and even let Sam see the evidence of it. And then, Frodo had talked about when- not _if_ , but _when_ \- he would take Sam to bed. _He wants to… with me!_ Sam thought gleefully and swallowed his nervousness down as he approached the first window in the front hall. He stared out into the damp night, hearing the soft drip of water from the trees and bushes.  
  
He couldn’t imagine how Frodo could assure their time and privacy but he had no doubt that he would. They would be allowed to relax and think only of one another and what was happening between them. Sam sighed and closed the window and the shutters. It would be a long night.  


♦

  
Frodo lay in bed, his hands behind his head slid under his pillow, and he gazed up at the vaulted ceiling above him. His cock tingled and throbbed dully so he rolled his hips and let the soft linen sheets slide over it teasingly. He smiled a little at the pleasure and turned on his side, sighing.  
  
He had been mindful not to do anything to excite Sam when they said their goodnights in the study. He hadn’t even kissed him, rather he had restricted himself to a hand clasp. Sam had taken his hand and kissed it, saying goodnight as he did.  
  
Frodo wondered guiltily if he had pushed Sam too far too fast, all but he had seemed to enjoy what they had been doing. And it hadn’t been a conscious decision to put his leg against Sam’s cock, but had been something was accustomed to doing with Pan all those years ago. Instincts were returning with a vengeance, he was discovering.  
  
It really had felt remarkably good, he reflected and squirmed, drawing his knees up. The way Sam had held him so tightly and pressed back so enthusiastically had made him hard, harder than he had let himself get around someone else in a long time. He shivered to remember Sam’s warm solid body pressing against his own and felt his cock tighten in response. He licked his lips and gave in, curling his fist around the hot flesh rising up from between his legs. He recalled the look on Sam’s face when he had looked down and seen the result that their kissing and rubbing had had. And the sound he had made- that had been lust! _Lust, from my sweet shy Samwise,_ Frodo thought, panting now.  
  
How would it be to lay him down, to touch him and watch those soulful brown eyes widen in excitement and pleasure? And how would it be to touch Sam’s cock, with no trousers or linens in the way? He had felt it with his leg, the vague outline of it and the warmth of it. He knew it was thick and supposed it would flush a deep red the way Sam’s face did when he was embarrassed or excited. Would Sam let him taste it? Had he ever known that sort of pleasure?  
  
The muscles in his stomach quivered in tension and Frodo let a soft moan become audible. He had learned to use moans and whimpers to tell his playmates how aroused he was, how he liked to be touched and even to drive his own arousal when he was alone.  
  
“Mmm,” he sighed and reached down to fondle his stones, slowing his stroking to prolong the pleasure. He wondered if Sam would be a noisy lover, and couldn’t decide; would his inherent shyness keep the fair gardener quiet or would he be helpless to the passion that made him burst into tears when he was upset or raise his voice in indignation when he was tested and teased by his friends?  
  
He moved his hand faster now, his excitement growing, notching higher. Not for the first time, he was thankful for the thick walls of Bag End, assuring that none would hear his labored breaths and guess what he was up to. He felt the hot welling at the base of his cock and realized he was getting close, and that he didn’t have a handkerchief handy. Muttering a curse he slowed his stroking and wriggled to the side of the bed, reaching out for his breeks where he had shed them at the bedside. Sometimes it paid to be untidy, he reflected as he found a handkerchief in the pocket and drawing it up pressed it over the tip of his arousal. Satisfied now he resumed his stroking and let his reaction come. The pleasure of it washed over him in a deep sweeping orgasm that set his limbs trembling.  
  
“Aahk,” he groaned, as his body pulsed, pleased, if not a little surprised at how powerful it was. He must have been more wound up than he realized. Slowly his muscles eased and relaxation spread over him, like a warm blanket that left his limbs heavy and his head cloudy with drowsiness.  
  
He hoped when he and Sam loved it would be as nice, or better. It would be better, he decided, for it would be far nicer to have Sam in his arms. But, he resolved sleepily, he would try for an exclamation slightly more dignified at the crucial moment.


	8. Chapter 8

Bilbo was up and putting in the kitchen before dawn. He felt slightly pleased that he had risen before any of the Gamgees, who were notorious earlier risers, and went about making a tidy first breakfast for the household. He heard shuffling footsteps in the hall and a moment later Hamfast appeared in the kitchen doorway, surveying his master’s progress.  
  
“Good morning, sir,” Ham said, moving into the kitchen.  
  
“Good morning, Ham,” Bilbo said, “sit down now, I’ve just got coffee on, or I can make tea if you prefer.” The Gaffer sat down hesitantly at the breakfast table and shook his head.  
  
“Oh, coffee is fine sir. Don’t go to any trouble. I do like a bit of the brew from time to time,” he said.  
  
“I do too, but Frodo gives me grief over it,” Bilbo said, going to the coffee press that had been steeping for five minute or so. He pushed the strainer down, separating the grounds from the coffee and took down two cups.  
  
“Mr. Frodo don’t like coffee?” Ham asked amiably, blinking in the dim light as Bilbo poured.  
  
“Oh, he’ll drink it, but he prefers tea and says coffee isn’t a proper drink for hobbits. Tells me only Big People and queer Bree hobbits drink it.” He heard the low sound of Ham chuckling.  
  
“I think Mr. Frodo is teasing you,” he said.  
  
“I think so too,” Bilbo agreed and passed Hamfast a mug, “cream? Sugar?” he asked.  
  
“Yes sir, to both,” Hamfast said quietly as Bilbo brought the cream pitcher and sugar bowl to the table along with spoons for them both and Bilbo sat down across from his gardener.  
  
“Well, we’ve a day ahead of us, old friend,” Bilbo said quietly as he stirred cream into his coffee. “I’m sorry I wasn’t up to speaking with the builders yesterday, but I expect we’ll be meeting with them again today. I did have a quick word with Milo Grubb about Number One. They’ll be coming out this morning to have a look at the place.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Ham said, “You don’t know what it means to me, you going to all this trouble.”  
  
“Think nothing of it,” Bilbo said primly and sighed, “I’m very sorry the roof ever got in such a condition. I suppose I should have them all inspected. Never thought to have it done before,” he said, troubled. “I’m so very glad no one was hurt.”  
  
“Aside from you,” Ham reminded gently. Bilbo felt a stab of discomfort.  
  
“Well,” he muttered and drank his coffee, embarrassed.  
  
“It was a good job Mr. Frodo did on the roof,” Ham said slowly, “I was wrong, telling him he couldn’t go up there.” Bilbo peered across the table.  
  
“You were concerned for his safety,” he said quietly, “I won’t hold that against you.”  
  
“Well, I’m having to learn,” Ham paused starting at the table, his words caught in his throat for a moment. He frowned, scowling at the table and pushed on, “I’m having to learn to see him as the grown hobbit he is, and not the quiet little lad who followed me in the garden, nor the teen I used to have to tell to go home when it got dark after he’d come to visit us down at Number Three to see Bell and the bairns.” He shook his head, “It don’t seem all that long ago.”  
  
“I know,” Bilbo said carefully, knowing that Ham almost never spoke this way. “To me,” he paused himself, a little embarrassed, “to me, he’s still my little lad from the Hall.” He cleared his throat, “But we have the excuse that he hasn’t really come of age yet. That’s still a few years off.”  
  
“He’s… twenty nine?” Hamfast asked.  
  
“Thirty this fall,” Bilbo nodded. “And Sam’s eighteen?”  
  
“Just turned,” the Gaffer said and drank his coffee. Bilbo sat back shaking his head.  
  
“My, tongues are going to wag,” he commented. The Gaffer squinted at him.  
  
“T’aint their age difference folks will be speaking on I’d wager,” Ham said gruffly.  
  
“True enough. More coffee?” Bilbo offered brining the press to the table, topping up their mugs.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo?” Hamfast said quietly.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“How are we going to keep folk from talking on them?” Ham asked. Bilbo paused and set the coffee press down.  
  
“Well,” he said softly, “The village will talk once it gets out, no question. I suppose we just have to make sure to be present when they do, and steer the conversation, and be about to answer questions and defend our lads. I’ll go put myself at the mayor’s house and the pub for a few nights,” he took a breath, “even… oh lord, I pledged never go back onto the golf links at the gentlehobbit’s club, but I suppose the cause is worthy enough.”  
  
“I can go to the pubs and speak with the farmers,” Hamfast said slowly.  
  
“The farmers?” Bilbo asked curiously and Ham nodded.  
  
“Farmers have the most sway around here, among the common folk. Aside from the miller,” he said, “and… it were farmer’s lasses mostly looking for Sam to court them. But,” he paused uncertainly, “I dunno what to say. This is all so…”  
  
“So like a Baggins?” Bilbo murmured smiling ruefully, “unforeseen and full of mischief and otherness. Not anything you ever expected to tackle.”  
  
“I were going to say private,” Ham said looking up.  
  
“Ah. That too,” Bilbo agreed. “I suppose you approach it the same way you’ve always approached gossip.” He paused a moment, sipping before adding, “I’ve heard that you have on more than one occasion defended me, and defended Frodo, at the pub when talk turned against us.”  
  
“Emhf,” the Gaffer snorted uncomfortably, studying the table top, “T’was just reminding some folks to know their place. They didn’t mean any harm in it, Mr. Bilbo. Just in their cups.”  
  
“Well, thank you anyway,” Bilbo said and went on before the Gaffer could feel much more awkward, “Why don’t the two of us go into town for lunch? See what the lads are talking about at the Bush?” The Gaffer considered this.  
  
“Do you think folks will know already?” he asked. Bilbo sighed.  
  
“Unfortunately it seems that the Sackville-Bagginses are recently privy to the old rumors about Frodo from the Hall. And as they are staying in town for the festival I should think Lotho would be rather happy to go spreading the rumor in Frodo’s stomping grounds.” He sighed, “Someday I’d like to see that little piss-ant get his comeuppances.” Ham raised his eyebrows.  
  
“I thought Mr. Frodo give him that at tea the other day,” he remarked. The old master chuckled.  
  
‘So he did!” he laughed. “You heard about that, did you?”  
  
“Half the village has,” Hamfast said, “Miss Lobelia went talking on it to the wig lady in Bywater. Said all sorts of nasty things about Mr. Frodo, but all anyone heard was that Mr. Lotho got his nose broke by the heir to the Hill.”  
  
“I don’t think Frodo broke his nose,” Bilbo said frowning, “It was bleeding badly, mind, but not broken.”  
  
“Folks exaggerate,” Hamfast said. He paused and said quietly, “I suppose it was over this… business?” Bilbo nodded solemnly. Hamfast shook his head in dismay. “I thought it must be so. Never known Mr. Frodo to be the violent type.”  
  
“He’s not,” Bilbo said quietly.  
  
“Hm,” Ham hummed thoughtfully.  
  
“But I don’t think Sam’s name will come up in it,” Bilbo said, glad that he could offer that in the least, but Hamfast shook his head.  
  
“Maybe not right away,” he said, “But I’m afraid I let slip to May about Sam. She asked me sommat about them walking out, seemed like she suspected and I weren’t going to tell her a tale,” he sighed, “and then she went and told her cousin Lily, to ask her advice.”  
  
“Oh, well,” Bilbo murmured.  
  
“And then Lily told her Ponto and Ponto bothered Sam about it at the pub and Tom Cotton heard them arguing on it…”  
  
“My goodness,” Bilbo said uneasily.  
  
“And I think Sam told Mari, though he didn’t say for sure, and if May and Mari know then Daisy will know sooner than later…”  
  
“My lord,” Bilbo sighed, “half the village will know before the week is out.”  
  
“We never were going to keep it a secret,” Ham said slowly, “You said even, that we ought not.”  
  
“Yes but, I was rather hoping to control it,” Bilbo murmured, thinking. Ham snorted.  
  
“No, no controlling this. Not with hobbits as eager for gossip as those around here.” He finally looked up at his master, “Now, Mr. Bilbo, you weren’t picturing a handfasting for them at the Lithe fair, were you?” Bilbo felt his cheeks flush.  
  
“Not a handfasting so much, but yes, some sort of a… declaration of sorts,” he said and frowned when Ham chuckled. “What?” he demanded.  
  
“Had it all worked out, didn’t you, sir?” Ham asked smiling and shaking his head.  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo said a little sharply, “what’s wrong with that?”  
  
“I don’t suppose you asked Mr. Frodo, did you?”  
  
“Well, not yet. We’ve been a bit busy,” Bilbo conceded.  
  
“I shouldn’t think they’ll like the idea, begging your pardon. Being on display for everyone,” Ham told him. Bilbo scowled and stirred more cream into his coffee.  
  
“I know,” he said in a low voice, “But they will be anyway. Better to make a spectacle of it, I always say.”  
  
“And that’s your way, sure enough,” Ham agreed, “But it’s not their way.” Bilbo took a long sip.  
  
“You’re right of course,” he said at length.

  
♦

  
Bilbo had rested during the morning, though it was less because he felt unwell and more that he wanted Frodo to supervise the builders. He would of course have a word or three with the Grubbs to make sure everything was well, but it was good practice for his heir all the same. When the builders left Bilbo had snuck along to the front of the smial and slipped out into the hedges, listening for his gardener’s grumble and the smell of his pipe smoke. He peered out and found Ham giving his youngest son garden chores.  
  
“Oh rubbish!” Bilbo said, startling both Gamgees, who turned, and stared at their master wide eyed, “the garden is fine. Go tend to your hole,” he said, “honestly Hamfast.” Hamfast snorted a little and hid a smile.  
  
“Much appreciated Mr. Bilbo, but we did ought to tidy up a bit here first,” he said stoutly.  
  
“It’s too wet,” Bilbo said, inflicting his limited knowledge of gardening, “You’ll break up the soil.” Hamfast scowled for an unguarded moment before Bilbo went on, “Samwise, run along and sort Number Three, there’s a good lad. You’re father and I have important business to attend to.” Sam blinked at him and looked at his father for direction. Hamfast crossed his arms and shrugged.  
  
“Do as your master says,” he told Sam.  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said meekly and nodded to them both, bidding them good morning as he scrambled down the hill and out of sight. Ham sighed and turned a squint on him.  
  
“What sort of business did you have in mind sir?” he asked. Bilbo chuckled happily.  
  
“Come on,” he said turning, “Pub.” From behind him he heard Hamfast snort and follow him.

♦

  
The two old hobbits had not been in town long when they heard whooping and laughter from the Bush. Hamfast frowned at this.  
  
“Oh Ham, let them be,” Bilbo murmured.  
  
“Mighty early to be so enthusiastic,” Hamfast said casting a jaundiced look at the pub.  
  
“-the young heir! Aye that-”  
  
“-do Baggins? Tell the lads what you told me, sir,” the voices came from the window. Bilbo frowned and walked slowly to the side of the lane, slipping into the shadow of the smial. Hamfast stared at him a moment, then crept along after his master.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo? What are we doing?” he asked.  
  
“Spying,” Bilbo answered.  
  
“Sir, we’re not tweens,” Hamfast answered a little indignantly.  
  
“Of course not. If we were tweens we could climb that tree just there and see in through the window,” Bilbo sighed longingly even as he caught Hamfast give him a horrified look.  
  
“… and did you know he fancies lads?”  
  
“Oh blast it all,” Bilbo cursed under his breath.  
  
“He’s hardly on new ground there.”  
  
“Well aye, but it’s still not-”  
  
“And Mr. Frodo is a queer Bucklander. I hear they frig most any-”  
  
“Not just fancies,” a voice that Bilbo recognized as the voice of Lotho Sackville-Baggins, “But let’s the lads make a lass of him.”  
  
“Does he then?” another voice from inside the pub asked.  
  
“Oh my, that’s a nasty little bit of news and no mistake.”  
  
“Disgraceful, even for a Baggins. Even for a Bucklander. Are you sure Mr. Lotho?”  
  
“Heard it from my own uncle who saw him bent over in a Buckland shed playing pogue to some lusty woodshop lad,” Lotho said smoothly. Bilbo huffed angrily and made to rise but the Gaffer put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, stilling him and put a finger to his lips.  
  
“But-!” Bilbo hissed. The Gaffer shook his head so with some trepidation Bilbo stilled and strained his ears, listening to the conversation once more. Lotho’s gloating voice rose over the murmurs of the assembled gaffers.  
  
“And,” he lowered his voice, “I hear he’s cast his eye on young Gamgee, the lad that works for him. Wants to initiate him into the debauchery. I’m ashamed to call Frodo a relation if you want the truth of it.” Bilbo sighed. He knew it had been foolish to think that Sam could be kept out of it, but he was rather amazed at how quickly Lotho had ferreted out that bit of information.  
  
“Sam Gamgee?” one of the older hobbits gasped. “Not little Samwise. He’s such a respectful lad.”  
  
“Heard that from the boy’s own cousin last night.”  
  
“Oh, is that what Ponto was so deep in his cups about?”  
  
“I knew it must be sommat hard on the poor lad.”  
  
“It seems I’m not the only one with black sheep in the family,” Lotho murmured.  
  
“Oh you’re right there Mr. Lotho. Cannot help relations, as the saying goes, beg your pardon.” Bilbo gritted his teeth.  
  
“Oh, he can’t help his relations, is it?” he muttered.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo, you must be quiet if’n we’re not to be discovered,” Hamfast cautioned him.  
  
“But this is exactly what we’re trying to stop,” Bilbo whispered fiercely, “If we can go stand up to Lotho-” But he Gaffer shook his head.  
  
“Beg your pardon, but I’m thinking, let it play out,” he said softly, “Let’s just wait a bit. If it gets too bad we’ll put a stop to it.”  
  
“It’s quite bad enough to my mind,” Bilbo said, feeling a deep anger settle into his heart. “I won’t have my boy talked on this way.” His hands were shaking. Hamfast only nodded slightly, looking sympathetic.  
  
“I won’t either sir. But we need to know what the lads will do,” he said slowly, “Please sir.” Bilbo took a breath and another. Then nodded slightly. He didn’t trust himself to think clearly in this moment, so he trusted Ham.  
  
“…Very well,” Bilbo relented.  
  
“Always knew there was something wrong about the boy,” Lotho said, “Tis a shame.”  
  
“Another pastie Mr. Brockhouse?”  
  
“Nay. I feel off my feed with all this talk.” There was a bout of laughter.  
  
“If you please Mr. Lotho,” came the proprietor’s voice, “let’s have no more of this. You’re making my customers lose their appetites.”  
  
“Tis’nt me that’s done it. It’s Frodo Baggins you should blame.”  
  
“And I will,” Warren said dryly, “next time Mr. Frodo comes in here and drives my customers away.” There was a soft murmur in the crowd.  
  
“We all knew never trust the Bagginses of the Hill to do what is expected,” Lotho continued, pushing on despite the murmurs, “but I never knew the lad would delve into such depths of disgrace.”  
  
“Right unnatural. T'will bring his ruin you wait and see.”  
  
“Terrible business.” There was a pause. “Though, actually not all that unexpected, Mr. Lotho, begging your pardon.”  
  
“What?” Lotho asked flatly.  
  
“Well, this business of his fancying the lads, I mean. It’s Frodo Baggins. It’s not really unexpected, is it?”  
  
“Oh not really I suppose,” said another.  
  
“He never was much of one for the lasses. I’ve been wondering when he’d take a lad on.”  
  
“Matter of time really.”  
  
“Actually it’s one of the more predictable things the boy had done. Almost seems proper.”  
  
“Proper?” Lotho asked sharply.  
  
“Well, not proper for any of us maybe,” one of the voices conceded, “But for him? Ah well, at least it was expected.”  
  
“Well I think it’s a sad state of affairs that shameful doings are accepted behaviors for the masters of the Hill,” Lotho shot back.  
  
“At least he don’t go on adventures, Mr. Lotho.”  
  
“So you all think it would be a bigger disgrace for Frodo Baggins to go on a bit of a holiday than for him to take one of your sons to bed?” Lotho asked incredulously.  
  
“Oh well, no, I’d not like him laying with my lad.”  
  
“No, no, that would be terrible.”  
  
“Afraid Lin’d get a taste for Fallohide, eh?”  
  
“No! T’wouldn’t be right for my boy to be laying hands on the gentry.”  
  
“Mr. Frodo’d not have your Lin anyway.”  
  
“And why not? He’s having Sam Gamgee, ain’t he? What’s the Gamgee lad got that my Lin hasn’t?” There was a slight pause.  
  
“A fine arse, for one.”  
  
“Mr. Proudfoot may you be forgiven!” Lotho said, appalled. Bilbo met Ham’s wide eyes and they stared at one another. Then Ham snorted softly and hid a chuckle in the palm of his hand.  
  
“You’re right there, dad! Nice round arse, like a proper hobbit lad. And good round belly too.”  
  
“And strong arms on him, all but that he’s a tween. Was I in the Baggins' lad's place I’d-”  Bilbo blinked, thoroughly lost. Catching sight at his expression Ham leaned close and whispered,  
  
“The lads are having a go at Mr. Lotho, sir.”  
  
“Is that what they’re doing?” Bilbo chuckled softly.  
  
“You’re all mad!” Lotho shouted.  
  
“Well, we can’t really blame Frodo Baggins for admiring our Samwise.”  
  
“Fine lad, is Sam. Gave me old mam a sack of runner beans the other day.”  
  
“You don’t say? Now isn’t that kind.”  
  
“You’re all quite at home with the notion?” Lotho spat, “Made peace with the fact that your master is tupping his gardener’s son?”  
  
“Oh well now Mr. Lotho, I’d not say that. Tis all those things we said afore, but Frodo Baggins taking a lad to bed is the least of the odd nuisances that the Baggines get up to. I’d say Mr. Bilbo’s speech last year at the fair were far worse.”  
  
“Went on for much too long, and with food getting cold.”  
  
“He ought to know better. Did it out of spite I reckon.” Bilbo sniffed and frowned. He thought it had been a rather good speech.  
  
“Yes. Mr. Frodo taking a lad to bed ain’t never made nobody late for dinner, and that is a fact.” There was a chorus of ‘ayes’.  
  
“You’ll all get what you deserve,” Lotho said and they heard his chair scrap on the floor as he rose, “Baggins-lovers, the lot of you.”  
  
“Now Mr. Lotho, you just leave our masters alone. They’re off their heads bless them, but they are ours, and I’ll thank you kindly to leave them to us.”  
  
“Well I see that I am wasting my time. One of these days I swear the lot of you will get what’s coming to you!” Lotho snarled and stomped away, the door slamming behind him.  
  
“Yeah, get on you tosser!” someone shouted out the window, “You’re just sore cause Mr. Frodo would rather bang a Gamgee than you!” The table dissolved into loud laughter and backslapping. Bilbo shook his head in wonder.  
  
“Bloody Sackville-Bagginses,” someone snorted.  
  
“I’ll toast to that.” The door slammed and Bilbo straightened, turned putting his back to the pub and whipped out his pipe. The Gaffer draw himself up and took up his place at Bilbo’s side, pulling out his own pipe. A moment later Lotho rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of them leaning against the pub wall. Bilbo gave him a smile and tipped his cap to the young hobbit. The Gaffer only glowered at him from under his hat brim. Lotho went a deep shade of red and turned on his heel, taking of quickly in the opposite direction, without a word. Bilbo snorted in glee and even the Gaffer cracked a smile as the young gentlehobbit disappeared behind the hills and hovels of Hobbiton.

♦

  
All day Sam had been moving the Gamgee’s possessions out of Number Three and into the lane. The pile he was making was being chipped away at by his sisters who came slowly to cart off items here and there down the Bagshot Row and into Number One. Sam’s main concern was getting their things out of Number Three, afraid that the roof would give in completely and collapse, even though braces had been set in place to hold it. He paused in the lane and looked up at the misshapen remains of the top of Number Three. The familiar shape, the fixed point of reference to his life had been twisted and pulled asunder so easily. He stared at it, and felt a gut wrenching sadness.  
  
_Don’t be silly_ , he told himself. _That roof will be fixed and it will all be the same again, you wait and see. Mr. Bilbo will make sure of it._ Still, the image of his home torn open bore down on him. With a sigh he turned his eyes from it.  
  
Tom and Jolly Cotton had come that morning and helped him move the bed frames to Number One, as well as the Gaffer’s chair and the table. What remained were clothes, food stuffs, and the odds and ends of each Gamgee’s possessions. Sam had carefully boxed his few books and writing materials into a sturdy wooden crate and taken it over to Number One himself, staking out a corner by the fireplace as his own. There was only one bedroom at Number One and the girls would take that. Sam and his father would bide on pallets in the living area. The most important things had been moved, and the entire kitchen and living portion were cleared for the builders. Sam stretched, satisfied for the time being and beginning to feel hungry. He wandered down the lane to Number One, hoping to smell soup or something roasting, but the air was free of any delicious smells. He paused, wondering if the girls were even in, for he didn’t hear them and they usually made enough racket to alert any hobbit to their presence far before he entered the smial. He went into the garden and pulled the little gate shut behind him, just as Daisy opened the front door, blinking a little in surprise as the sight of him.  
  
“Lo,” he said, “Getting settled?” he asked.  
  
“Oh, well enough,” Daisy said glancing at the sky.  
  
“Shouldn’t rain today or tonight,” Sam said.  
  
“That’s nice,” she said quietly. Sam was about to work his way into asking about the food situation when Daisy frowned suddenly and said, “Sam?” Sam turned back and saw Daisy standing awkwardly at the door, peering at him. “Come inside a moment.” He wandered closer, a little bewildered by the troubled look on his sister’s face.  
  
“Is sommat wrong with the hole?” he asked as she retreated inside Number One.  
  
“No,” she said going to stand by the fire pit, “No, naught’s wrong with the hole.”  
  
“Daisy?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Close the door,” she said quietly and took a seat on the fire side stool. Sam did as she told him and then pulled a chair from the table to sit close and look down at her. “May told me what you and her were feuding on.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam murmured. Daisy looked at him hard for a long moment and Sam began to feel that he ought to say something, but he didn’t know what. _I love him, or it’s none of your business…_  
  
“Mama wouldn’t have like it,” she said quietly. Sam stilled. “I know da ain’t exactly happy, but he’s going along with it, cause of Mr. Bilbo. Da’s spent his whole life going along with whatever Bilbo Baggins wants, no matter if it puts a Gamgee in a bad place.”  
  
“Daisy Gamgee!” Sam hissed, “Mr. Bilbo is the reason we have a place to live and food and clothes and-”  
  
“I’m not saying he ain’t a good master,” Daisy said quietly, “But you know better than I do, a Baggins is mischief. And mischief don’t make for a good settled life. Having a Baggins as a master is chancy enough. Taking one to love is far worse.”  
  
“I’m willing to take that chance,” Sam said. Daisy set her mouth and her eyes blazed.  
  
“I wish mama was here. She might could get you to see sense."  
  
“You don’t know what mama would say,” Sam said angrily, clenching his fists to keep them from shaking. Actually, Daisy had been the closest to their mother and she probably did know, if anyone did.  
  
“Mama always had her doubts about the Bagginses.”  
  
“What?” Sam asked, caught off guard. Daisy looked down.  
  
“She told me not to tell, but I think you ought to hear it,” she said softly, “mama told me when she first knew she had a babe on the way, she marched up the hill and made Mr. Bilbo swear to her that he wouldn’t go leaving the Shire on adventures again. She told him flat out that he either swear it to her or find himself another gardener, for she wouldn’t have a hungry babe to feed and no master on the hill to give work to the Gamgees. She didn’t tell dad she did that.” Sam closed his mouth, realizing that he was gaping.  
  
“And Mr. Bilbo swore it?” he whispered. Daisy nodded.  
  
“He swore to her that he would not leave without taking care of both the mastership and the Gamgees. I think that’s when he started looking for an heir.” Sam sat in stunned silence. “Mama only ever wanted what was best for us, and she was willing to stand up to the Bagginses to get it. She’d want you to do that too.” Sam stared at her.  
  
“Do you think he’s making me court him?” he asked in a low growl. Daisy shook her head.  
  
“No. Don’t be stupid,” she said sharply, “But getting involved with him ain’t what’s best for you, nor for this family. If you could see that and keep the both of you from that unhappy life, then we’d all of us, Bagginses and Gamgees, be far better off.” She took a deep breath, “Mama didn’t make Mr. Bilbo swear he wouldn’t leave just for our family’s sake. She also wanted to keep him from harm. Mr. Bilbo don’t have no body to tell him when he’s doing something daft. She wanted to save him as much as save our family.”  
  
“You’re saying it would be a kindness to Mr. Frodo to save him from his own folly,” Sam breathed.  
  
“Yes you ninnyhammer,” Daisy sighed, “taking pleasures in tweenage is all well and fine, but that ain’t what’s going on here, is it? Neither of you would ever be happy not having a wife. And neither of you would be happy not having babes.” Sam felt tears welling in his eyes. He had always pictured his future with a sweet faced hobbit wife and pretty little babes all with bright eyes and brown curls. And what of Frodo? Would Sam by the same token, deny him the chance of some wished for future? “Do you remember,” Daisy said and her voice wavered, “when mama got sick and you told her you would name your first maid child after her?” Sam’s breath caught and his tears spilled.  
  
“She told me nay,” he murmured and swiped at his cheeks, embarrassed for Daisy to see him cry.  
  
“Said it was too plain a name, and your maid child ought to have a prettier name,” Daisy went on, “And she said she didn’t want you to be sad. Said babes ought to be named for family that were still alive and there to enjoy the honor. Better to name your maid child after your sisters and your lad child after brothers and other family.” Sam closed his mouth tightly and refused to look up. His heart hurt. “Mama thought the world of you,” Daisy murmured, “and she wanted me to look after you, after she was gone. She told me she was afraid for you, but she didna say why.”  
  
“Daisy,” Sam murmured and paused a long moment. He sighed and at last looked up, meeting her eyes. She looked anxious and sad. “Daisy-dear,” he said, “I know you look out for me and want to do right by your promise to mama but this ain’t something to try and argue with me about. Aye, it’s dangerous and maybe I will get into a bad way over it, but this is my choice. I know it can hurt the family, and I’ll do all I can to keep hurt from you all, but I won’t give him up.”  
  
“You’re a bloody stupid tween,” Daisy said hotly, “You don’t know anything about love, nor shared lives. He’s bewitched you, with all that reading and gentlehobbit charm.”  
  
“It’s not right for you to be speaking that way about him,” Sam growled.  
  
“Well I don’t take kindly to what he’s done to you,” Daisy said, rising, “It ain’t right for him to go risking your future, especially when it’s you as has the most to lose. All I can hope is that the pair of you get tired of laying together and come to your senses that it’s a lass you’re really wanting.” Sam clenched his jaw, a flush creeping into his cheeks. He stood and went quickly to the back door, finding his hat on the peg. “Samwise!” Daisy called after him. He ignored her and went out, slamming the door behind him.

♦

  
Sam walked, trotting quickly out into the party field through the high grasses. His face was hot and the only thing he knew to do was to walk quickly, out away from everyone else. His thoughts were racing in a way they never had before and it frightened him.  
  
“I’m too simple to know what to do,” he murmured to himself. “All hobbits like me know to do is to follow other hobbits.” He pushed his palm to his eyes swiping away tears that blurred his vision. “But who do I follow?”  
  
Sam found himself at last in one of the upper fields of Baggins land, managed by a tenant farmer. All around him was solitude, the rolling hills of barley and shade trees his only companions. With a great sigh Sam cast himself down under one of the trees, allowing himself finally to feel his exhaustion. He curled up, his thighs drawn up against his chest and his cheek pressed to his knees, and cried.

♦

  
Bilbo trotted happily along the lane, a step ahead of Hamfast who strolled at his side, looking distinctly less dour than when they had set out that morning.  
  
“I can’t believe it!” Bilbo said again. He had been saying it since they left Bywater. Hamfast shook his head.  
  
“Those lads are my friends, and they mostly think well on you,” he said, “It won’t be like that with everyone, sir. There are plenty about who will act just as Mr. Lotho wants them to.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Bilbo said turning. “But it was bloody satisfying all the same.” Hamfast laughed.  
  
“That is was Mr. Bilbo and no mistake,” he said and sobered. “Mind, there’s sommat else.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Goody Twofoot come to me while we were in town and you were at the stationers,” Hamfast said slowly, “She said to me that Mr. Lotho were making trouble for the Baggins lad. I tells her not to worry on it, but she weren’t satisfied. Told me… told me I ought to have Sam keeping an eye on Mr. Frodo, cause she was afraid Mr. Lotho might try and surprise him. He do keep a band of lads about him, up at that club of his. She told me Mr. Lotho’s not the type to go forgiving and forgetting, especially when he’s been embarrassed in front of the whole village, as it were.”  
  
“Oh my,” Bilbo said quietly. Hamfast rubbed and hand through his thinning hair.  
  
“Goody always worries more than needed, mind,” he cautioned.  
  
“Yes but I wonder,” Bilbo frowned, “I don’t like the idea of it at all.”  
  
“Well,” Ham said, “our lads do know how to handle themselves.” Bilbo nodded but he felt unsettled. He had never pondered the threat of violence as a consequence of all this. That sort of thing didn’t happen around Hobbiton, except for very minor incidences among children. He had seen the hard ways of men and the violent cruelty that existed out there and he had even seen glimmers of it in the hearts of some hobbits. But only glimmers; only the desire to do harm from sprite or greed. Violent cruelty was almost never acted out. Bilbo felt his stomach go sour at the thought of that savagery touching his heir.  
  
“Never mind it sir,” Hamfast said, looking very sorry for having brought it up, “Tis naught but a gammer’s fancy.”  
  
“Of course,” Bilbo agreed slowly.

  
♦

  
Frodo sat contentedly on the top of Bag End, puffing at his pipe. He had spent the first part of the day with the builders, who had brought plans back for him to inspect and sign off on. He had thought Bilbo would be more involved now that he was well, but Bilbo had only patted his back and told him he was doing quite a good job on his own and he didn’t need his old uncle peering over his shoulder every moment. Frodo had felt proud at that, but also a little frightened at the prospect. If he did something wrong it wouldn’t just affect him, but the Gamgees too, the family that he was most eager not to upset.  
  
He also hadn’t liked to be the only hobbit the builders consulted. Even though it was the usual custom for the master to take care of and oversee each detail of a tenant’s hole, Frodo wanted the Gamgees opinions and concerns addressed too. Frodo had therefore arranged for the head builder to meet with the Gaffer and Sam over elvensees, mostly to sort out the schedule and discuss the types of repairs the builders seemed to think were necessary. Frodo waited on them and did not join the conversation until the Gaffer was seen to be talking easily with the head builder, Milo Grubb.  
  
Milo was under the impression that Number Three ought to have a new roof style, since they would be building a whole new roof they might as well go for something more modern than the old fashioned barrel vault, which was widely used in Bilbo’s father’s time. But Hamfast Gamgee, predictably, did not care for this notion.  
  
“The gambrel roof has been used in most of the smials in Hobbiton proper,” Milo said patiently, “you get more room over your head since the slant rafter don’t start but a few feet from the top, and it’s the same height as the old roof. And you can hang your herbs and taters from the ceiling joists.”  
  
“The barrel vault like we had will do just fine,” Hamfast said frowning.  
  
“Now, I know it’s nice to have what’s familiar, Mr. Gamgee, but have you been in any of the town smials? Have you seen how much more room there is?”  
  
“Aye,” Hamfast said slowly, “Struck me like it were a smial trying to be a house.”  
  
“A-a house?” Milo sputtered.  
  
“Begging your pardon,” Ham added belatedly and without conviction. Frodo smiled into his napkin. Milo turned and looked pleadingly at Frodo. The young master put the napkin back in his lap and returned Milo’s glance.  
  
“It’s to be a barrel vault, Mr. Grubb,” he said. Milo sighed.  
  
“Yes Mr. Frodo,” he had said in a disappointed voice. Frodo had consoled the old builder with a large slice of carrot cake.  
  
Sam had said nothing throughout the entire conversation expect pleasantries when he was spoken to and responses to requests like, “pass the cream, lad,” or “is there any more of that fried bread?” Frodo knew it was because everyone at the table outranked Sam, but that hadn’t stopped the gardener’s son from sending him pleased looks, and when it was all over a congratulatory smile and a low,  
  
“Well done, sir. And thank you.”  
  
Frodo exhaled and stared at the sky over the countryside stretched before him. It was late afternoon by the sun and long since past tea. The sun would be up for a few more hours, thanks to the long summer days and Frodo felt thankful for that. He would after a while stroll down to the row and check on the Gamgee’s progress at moving into Number One, but he wanted to give them space and not bother them when there was work to be done.  
  
Sam had left shortly after the meeting with the builder and Frodo had not seen him since. Shortly after that, Bilbo had collected Ham and they had gone off to town together on some mysterious errand- though Frodo suspected it was a trip to the pub- leaving the younger Baggins to wander alone at Bag End, feeling a bit useless, and if he was honest, lonely.  
  
He had spent the afternoon tidying, cooking, and then retreated to his study when the heat of the day climbed enough to make being in the kitchen unpleasant. He had, to his embarrassment, written Sam a love letter. It was in his jacket pocket now and he was trying to work up the nerve to deliver it.  
  
It wasn’t that he didn’t think it would delight Sam, in fact he was fairly sure Sam would adore the effort, but he had been more honest on the paper than he was accustomed to being in speech, and he was afraid his sentiments sounded a little maudlin and syrupy.  
  
“Well I’ve never written a love letter before,” Frodo muttered ill-temperedly to himself. He stood and trudged down to the back kitchen door. He supposed if he was going to turn up on the row uninvited he ought to take food with him. Frodo had long ago learned that food smoothed over most socially awkward situations. He found a loaf of bread, the remains of May’s pie of the night before and packed that, along with half a dozen summer apples and a half gallon of cider. He packed these into his walking bag and set off down to the row road.  
  
He approached Number One and saw that there was still a fair amount of boxes and bags sitting in front of the smial and Marigold was laboring by herself, moving the loads from their staging point in front of Number Three, farther up the row. He paused and tipped his hat to her as the girl caught sight of him.  
  
“Hello Marigold,” he said, “do you need help?”  
  
“No, Mr. Frodo,” she said nervously. Frodo bit back on his irritation.  
  
“Well why has everyone left the work to you, my lass?” he asked.  
  
“They haven’t, beg your pardon,” Marigold said, her eye’s widening, “May’s off at the Cottons but Daisy’s about and…” she stopped and swallowed.  
  
“And Sam?” Frodo asked quietly. The door opened and Daisy stepped out, her back going ridged when she saw him. Frodo lifted his cap again.  
  
“Good afternoon, Miss Daisy,” he said.  
  
“Afternoon Mr. Frodo,” she said and sent a glare at her sister, “Mari, don’t be bothering the young master. He don’t have time to listen to your prattle.” By which she meant it wasn’t proper for Marigold to be speaking with him unchaperoned, Frodo realized and felt his cheeks go a little hot. Marigold looked taken aback and bit her lip, sinking into shamed silence.  
  
“I beg your pardon,” Frodo said unsurely, “I was looking for Sam.” Daisy’s glower darkened and her mouth went tighter. _Oh dear,_ Frodo thought, _she knows._  
  
“I’m sorry Mr. Frodo, I don’t know where that brother of mine got off to,” Daisy said, “He didna tell me where he was headed when he left.” Frodo stared, taken aback. Sam had left without a word of where he was going? And Daisy was clearly in a temper about something.  
  
“Oh,” he said dumbly.  
  
“I’ll sure tell him you were looking for him, sir,” Daisy said.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said weakly, trying to figure out if there was a question he could ask that would not breach the bound of propriety but let him discover what had happened, and decided there was none. “Well, excuse me,” he began.  
  
“Sam went out toward the back fields,” Marigold said quietly. “Across the party field.” Frodo turned to stare at her. She met his eyes this time. He heard Daisy huff.  
  
“The back fields?” Frodo asked in surprise.  
  
“Excuse me Mr. Frodo, I’ve a stew on and it’s bubbling up,” Daisy said and Frodo heard the door shut again, but he didn’t bother to look. Marigold had gone back to looking at her toes. There was a long pause and then the girl sighed.  
  
“He got into a fight with Daisy and set off, looking mad. I thought about going after him, sir, but Sam can fuss something fierce when he’s in a temper, so I let him be.”  
  
“Thank you for telling me,” Frodo said gently. Marigold glanced up at him through her curls.  
  
“I’m sorry Daisy was rude to you,” she murmured.  
  
“That’s alright. She has reason,” he said. Marigold bit her lip and frowned. “I brought some food down for your smial warming,” Frodo went on and took his bag off, “maybe you can take it in for me?” Marigold smiled at that but shook her head.  
  
“Nay sir, you might go find Sam and give it to him. He hasn’t had anything since noon.”  
  
“Noon, eh?” Frodo asked and looked out across the fields, “I wonder if I shouldn’t leave him be. It sounds as if he wants to be alone,” he paused and smiled, “and as you say, he can fuss when he’s in a temper.” Marigold laughed and put a hand over her mouth.  
  
“Oh sir, he’d not fuss at you,” she grinned and then sobered, “Nay, I think he’d be cheered to see you,” she paused and glanced away, her cheeks reddening, “begging your pardon,” she winced and said quickly, “but he could be hard to find as there’s a lot of land out there.”  
  
“I think I can manage,” Frodo said and glanced back the pile of the Gamgee’s belongings, “if you’re sure you can manage this lot, dear lass.” Marigold blushed.  
  
“Yes sir,” she said, “dunna be worrying on me.”

♦

  
Frodo set off across the field, feeling the heat of the afternoon sun on his neck. He had no idea where to go, for the back fields were massive, forty acres or so and spotting one hobbit, especially one that perhaps did not want to be found, would be difficult at best. Still, he couldn’t imagine not trying to find Sam and if he was unhappy offer him whatever comfort he could.  
  
But would Sam welcome his appearance? Frodo stared up at the open blue sky and frowned. He hadn’t liked it when Sam followed him into his room when he had been upset, but it had all ended well. And why was Sam upset? Frodo winced, wondering if the source of contention between Daisy and Sam had been their courtship. It was possible for their fight to be on any number of issues, but it seemed far more likely that Daisy objected to Sam casting his eyes on Frodo.  
  
_What if he’s fed to the teeth with all this?_ Frodo wondered, _this will only be the start of what he’ll have to endure, and for what? A few kisses in the lane? Some warm glances? What could I ever possibly offer him that would make up for the trouble and bother of his family and the whole village turning against him? He’s obviously unhappy, to go off like this when there’s work to be done. It’s not like Sam._  
He stopped in the middle of the field and gazed across the grasses. What was he doing, looking for Sam? If Sam had wanted his companionship then he would have come up to the Hill.  
  
“No,” Frodo murmured, “I’ve already come this far, and I ought to find him. If I’m responsible for his unhappiness then I’m responsible for doing what is in my power to ease it." With a sigh he set off again.

♦

  
Sam sat in a daze, staring into the sky. He didn’t know how long he had been doing it, but his mind refused to move from that spot. The only thing drawing him from the stupor was the vague feeling of hunger that had been gnawing at him, and continued to do so stubbornly, despite his immobility. Something in him was squeezed tight like shutters drawn against a storm, granting him a welcome numbness that he didn’t want to lose, at least not yet.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
Sam jerked in surprise and felt his daze break as he twisted around to see Frodo standing behind the tree he had been propped against.  
  
“Sir,” he rasped and coughed, clearing his throat. “Whatever are you doing out here?” Frodo frowned a little and rubbed the strap of his bag distractedly.  
  
“Looking for you. Marigold said…” he trailed off uncertainly. “I’m sorry. Would you rather I leave?” he asked quietly.  
  
“No,” Sam murmured. Frodo stood still for a moment, then not quite looking at Sam, sat down beside him. Neither spoke for a long moment.  
  
“Are you alright?” Frodo finally asked softly. Sam stared at his hands, feeling the hot welling of tears gathering behind his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about it, even though he knew he should. He took a breath, and then another.  
  
“It’s…” he started and sniffed, “Everything is just so…. hard, sometimes,” he murmured brokenly. He heard Frodo shift, as his eyes filled and blurred his vision. Then, a strong warm arm slid around his shoulders and he leaned into the offered embrace. Another arm came around his chest and pulled Sam closer, enfolding him.  
  
He couldn’t bear thinking about his mother or Daisy’s words, or his banished future children, or the torn remains of Number Three. He felt as if his foundations had been ripped apart and he had been cast to drift in an unfamiliar landscape, all but that he was surrounded by the hills and trees of his Shire.   
  
Frodo didn’t ask him what was wrong. He didn’t need to maybe, or maybe he knew that talking wasn’t something Sam was capable of. Instead he held tightly to Sam, and if he said anything it was only soft nonsense and endearments that the gardener’s son barely heard. Sam felt safe, he realized, and couldn’t recall ever feeling this safe and loved, not since he was a babe.  
  
Long minutes passed, but Frodo didn’t shake him off, and for that Sam was grateful. He was beginning to be able to think again, and he stubbornly directed his thoughts toward the one holding him. How was it that Frodo had abandoned whatever duties and business he had for the sole purpose of finding him among all these fields, just to come and comfort his Sam? He was deeply touched at the thought and clung tighter to Frodo, trying to find some words to express his gratitude.  
  
Instead his stomach growled loudly, tired of being ignored and to Sam’s mortification Frodo chuckled softly.  
  
“I brought you some food,” Frodo murmured in his ear, “your sister said you hadn’t eaten since noon.” Sam sat up and stared at Frodo, shyly wiping his face, his embarrassment slowly being replaced by curiosity.  
  
“Eh?” he murmured inarticulately. Frodo reached into the bag at his side and pulled out a ceramic jug, a thick loaf of bread and the summer apples that Sam himself had picked a few days ago and a wrapped portion of what looked like May’s blueberry pie. “No utensils I’m afraid,” Frodo told him gently, “but I suspect you’d rather not wait.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam managed and realized that part of his addled state was due to hunger. He tucked in, tearing off a hunk of bread and Frodo began to munch on one of the apples. He worked his way through two apples, more bread and a slice of pie. He and Frodo took turns drinking from the cider jug and by the end of the meal Sam felt a great deal of his equilibrium restored.  
  
“You look a bit more pert,” Frodo observed, giving him a smile. Sam returned it, ducking his head.  
  
“I feel that much better, sir,” he said.  
  
“You must’n skip meals like that,” Frodo admonished, “Especially when you’re working hard in the hot sun.”  
  
“Aye, and I know better than to do it,” Sam sighed, “Thank you for come out here and taking care of me.” A brief expression fluttered across Frodo’s face that Sam couldn’t name before Frodo looked back out into the fields, a slightly wistful smile on his face.  
  
“Anytime,” he said quietly. Sam found himself liking that smile and felt a rush of fondness for Frodo.   
  
Frodo could still surprise him after all these years with a flash of deep understanding that Sam had assumed to be beneath a gentlehobbit, or a reference to obscure farming practices that the young master had no reason to have learned. This hobbit who could match wills and wit with the most inflexible canny Brandybuck somehow found it within himself to love his gardener’s son, who had none of these qualities. He gazed at Frodo in wonder, and for the first time felt that he understood how deeply he was in love with this hobbit.  
  
Frodo noticed his gazed and returned it, his expression slightly curious and fond. He leaned back against the tree, not breaking his gentle attention as he slumped down, resting his cheek against the rough oak bark. Sam wanted to say, "I love you," but he suddenly felt shy about voicing that love. He knew Frodo loved him in some fashion, and had said Sam gave him peace and it seemed that he enjoyed their kisses, which was all fine, wonderful in fact. But in love, well, that was something different, and they had not been at this long enough for Sam to know if Frodo felt the same as he did. So Sam did what he tended to do when words failed him. He took Frodo’s hand in his and stayed quiet, letting the moment between them stretch comfortably. The two of them, lost together in a sea of yellow green barley stalks that swayed gently around them, with a tall leafy oak above, its leaves creating a dull whisper as the wind stirred them.  
  
_Glory,_ Sam thought and tried not to cry. The peace about him soothed away the momentary threat of tears and Sam relaxed for the first time that day.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interest of mine is the history of homophobia, and some of that comes up in this story, though because it's the Shire, it shows up as a more muted less vicious version of some of the ideas the Victorians had. If you're interested in the subject check out Homophobia: A History by Byrne Fone.

Frodo and Sam walked back together, until they drew close to the party field and paused under the shade tree to catch their breaths. Frodo put his hands in his pockets nervously and looked across the field to where Bag Shot row was visible in the distance. He and Sam had been chatting about the move and how long the builders would need and the other mundane parts of the whole thing; whatever was a comfort to them.  
  
“Poor Mari,” Sam said shaking his head, “I didn’t mean for her to be trying to move that lot by herself. I weren’t thinking.”  
  
“There are still at least two hours of daylight,” Frodo consoled him, “and she seemed well able to handle herself. Really Sam, you don’t have to do everything.”  
  
“Ah, aye,” Sam said, brushing back a curl in irritation, “But it’s what I do, you see? It’s how I know I’m a use to the hobbits around me, if they know they can count on me to be about and lend a hand. It’s the way da raised me.”  
  
“I know, and I think that’s part of why you are so well thought on around the village. But that’s no reason for you to feel guilty when you can be all things to all hobbits, and it’s certainly no reason for you not to take care for yourself.” Sam regarded him with a slight smile.  
  
“Oh aye,” he said with surprising amiability, “but if you don’t mind me saying, you’re one to talk.” Frodo blinked at that, then burst out laughing.  
  
“Fair enough!” he admitted, “Let’s make a pact, shall we? No more pushing ourselves down for things we can’t help.”  
  
“Let’s shake on it then,” Sam said, stepping close and put out his hand. Frodo took it and shook it, but didn’t let go. Sam’s eyes softened and he stepped closer, drawing their hands up to kiss the top of Frodo’s knuckles.  
  
“My, but you are sweet,” Frodo told him, admiringly. Sam grinned in response, which gave Frodo a slight amount of courage enough to say, “I have something for you.” Sam cocked his head.  
  
“Oh?” he inquired and Frodo drew his hand away to reach into his jacket pocket, retrieving the sealed envelope, which he held out for Sam to take. “What is it?” Sam asked.  
  
“A letter,” Frodo replied tightly. Sam was obviously puzzled by it and it was making his nerves jangle.  
  
“That’s very kind of you,” Sam said, and slid his finger under the flap, “should I read it?”  
  
“Not now,” Frodo said quickly and felt his face grow hot, “that is, it’s… well, it’s a sort of love letter, actually.” This got Sam’s attention and he glanced up. Frodo added, “I’m afraid I might be too self-conscious to stand here and watch you read it.” Sam’s expression softened.  
  
“Ah, I understand,” he murmured. Frodo felt a slight surge of encouragement from this and managed a smile.  
  
“Take it with you and read it sometime when you’re alone, and think of me,” he said softly, then sighed, “though, I know you may have a hard time finding a moment alone at present.” Sam chuckled.  
  
“Well maybe,” he admitted, “But I’ll find a way.” He tucked the envelope into his own jacket and stepped close again, sliding his hands around Frodo’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he said, and kissed Frodo’s cheek.

♦

Sam stretched, easing his back, and pushed his chair out from under the table to help clear away the dishes. He handed a stack of plates to Daisy, who took them without a word, though she did at least look at him and nod. _Well_ , he thought, _there are worse things than Daisy not talking to me._ The food was packed away quickly and the dishes were drying in the rack before Sam quite knew it, and all the chores of the day were done.  
  
The Gaffer was leaning back in his chair, a cast off of Bilbo’s, and was drowsily murmuring to himself. Sam felt the slight tug of worry he always felt when he saw his dad doing such things, but told himself firmly it was the Gaffer’s way and his age showing. It didn’t mean he would be wandering about the smial in a daze forgetting their names the way old cousin Fan Greeholm had in his later years.  
The girls were puttering and May was already yawning.  
  
“I’m that worn out,” she said.  
  
“Aye, all but it ain’t late. I think I’ll go to bed,” Marigold said.  
  
“Well you can be up all the earlier tomorrow, and help me weave wreaths,” Daisy said, wiping his hands on her apron. May made a face.  
  
“But I told Lily I’d meet her in town tomorrow. We’re going to look at frocks,” she protested.  
  
“Work before play,” Daisy said stubbornly, “anyway, you haven’t enough coin for a new frock. What’s the point in looking if you ain’t buying?” The Gaffer groaned.  
  
“Oh Daisy leave her be. You been fussin’ at everybody this evening. I’ve had enough,” the Gaffer scowled.  
  
“I wanted to see if there was one I could buy for the flower dance,” May said. “I’ve a few coins saved,” she added mournfully, “and I gave my old one to Mari.” Sam glanced over at her as he put the kettle on for after dinner tea.  
  
“I’ll give you a bit for a new dress, May,” he said. May cast a bright look at him and crossed the room hugging her brother. Sam chuckled and pushed her off.  
  
“What?” he asked, “don't act like I never help me sisters out. You must have your eye set on dancing with some lad for wanting a dress so.”  
  
“So what if I have,” May said, still elated.  
  
“Where are you getting money for such?” Daisy asked frowning at him.  
  
“I been running errands for Mr. Bilbo alongside the garden 'prenticeship,” Sam said, “and cooking and mending and shifting his books.”  
  
“Right handy, aren’t you Sam?” May asked smiling.  
  
“Long as it’s Mr. Bilbo you’re doing the favors for,” Daisy said flatly. Sam turned and stared at her, shocked. The Gaffer turned too and frowned.  
  
“Daisy, go to bed,” he growled, “I told 'ee to stop fussin’ and I meant it.” He turned his glance on the others, “Well, go on lasses. Weren’t you all just saying how tired you were?”  
  
“Yes dad. Goodnight,” Marigold murmured.  
  
“Goodnight,” Daisy said tightly and turned away without another word.  
  
“Goodnight. Thank you, Sam,” May said and followed her sisters into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Sam breathed out a sigh. The Gaffer had turned back to staring into the fire grate, blinking slowly.  
  
“Are you tired too, lad?” he asked at length.  
  
“A bit,” Sam said slowly, “But, I want to read a little before I go to bed.” This was cheeky and Sam knew it, but he needed to read that letter Frodo had given him. It was still held safe in his breast pocket. Though no one else in the smial could read, Sam couldn’t bear for any harm to come to the letter, so he had kept it on him all evening. He went to his small crate and chose the thick leather bound book Bilbo had given him two years ago for Yule. It was a collection of elf stories and genealogies, and was one of Sam’s dearest possessions. “You look like you’re going to sleep, da.” Sam hinted.  
  
“Aye,” the Gaffer murmured.  
  
“I’ll sit on the back stoop to read then,” Sam said quietly. The Gaffer did frown a little at this, for he never believed in wasting lamp oil or candles and looked as if he were going to scold Sam for a moment, but then eased.  
  
“Don’t be at it too long,” he mumbled.  
  
“I shan't,” Sam said in relief.  
  
“Sam?” the Gaffer said, raising his voice slightly.  
  
“Sir?” Sam replied. The Gaffer paused for a long moment.  
  
“Sometime maybe you could read one of those stories to me,” the Gaffer said and Sam was so surprised he whirled around and stared. The Gaffer looked up, frowning but meeting his son’s eyes.  
  
“Yes da,” Sam said quietly, “I’d be happy to.”  
  
“I know you’ve read that book over and over again,” the Gaffer went on, “does it bring you comfort to read those stories, son?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam answered honestly.  
  
“Well go read then,” he said, “good night.”  
  
“Good night, sir,” Sam said, feeling touched by his father’s words. Gingerly, he pushed the back door open and passed through into the quiet summer night, closing the door behind him. He sat on the stoop, setting the lantern beside him, and leaned against the door, staring out at the sky.  
  
It was a clear night with a soft warm breeze stirring the tall grasses in the field behind the row. Sam breathed in deeply and gazed up at the stars for a long moment, letting the quiet and peace settle on him. After a while, he took out Frodo’s letter and gently pulled the paper flap up, sliding the thick folded parchment out. He gazed at it, elated by the elegant penmanship, so fluid and graceful in a way that Sam’s own clumsy hand could never aspire to. He sighed in pleasure and began to read,

 

 

>   
>  _My dearest Sam,_  
>  _You may think this an odd bit of gentlehobbit frippery, sending a letter when I could so easily walk down the road and talk to you face to face, but this courtship tradition at least has some reason behind it. I think these letters are written because gentlehobbits have such a hard time in speaking on deep feelings. I have that difficulty at times, though it is easier to be honest with you than with anyone else. You, my dear, have no such trouble, and every time I look into your face I can see love in your eyes and I am so very grateful that you, at least, are open enough to show me that gift anytime I care to see it. I hope that someday I can be as strong as you, and show you plainly how dear you are to me._  
>    
>  _Reading over this I’m begging to see that I am approaching all of this much too formally, so let me try again.  
>  _  
>  _I adore you, Samwise Gamgee. Your presence in my life is a gift that I hope never to take for granted. You light my days with your cheer and sweetness and I have long been fond of you, loved you even, but now that I let myself be honest in my feelings that fond love has deepened into something new. I have never felt this way about another. I find myself feeling that your happiness is as dear to me as my own and I am terrified at the thought of harm coming to you._  
>    
>  _You have surprised me this last week and shown me how very ignorant I was. I will never again think of you as only a pleasant simple lad. If you’ll allow me, I want to think of you as my lover, or at least lover-to-be. I yearn for the day when I can lie skin to skin with you and love you in that way too. Perhaps then I can show you my ardor more successfully than I can in this letter.  
>  _  
>  _I do not know if there is a higher power that directs our fates, like the Elvish Elbereth, but if there were such a power then I would dare a boon; that we two should be bound together. Perhaps this frightens you a bit. It frightens me too, but suddenly I cannot think of my life not including you. We cannot know what the future holds and I do not know if we will remain as lovers, but I do know that as long as you are near me, my heart will be content and I will always love you, whether the demands of life take you from my side, whether distance or death separates one of us from the other, whether the stars fall from the sky, know my dearest Samwise, that I will love you._  
>    
>  _Forgive me if any of what I have written offends you. It seems that I am taking a number of liberties, perhaps rushing you into thoughts and feelings you are not ready for. Please tell me if ever you need more time. I care so deeply for you and I will always do my best for you._  
>    
>  _You have my love,_  
>    
>  _Frodo_

  
Sam took a breath, then another, and felt hot wet tears fall down his cheeks and he swiped at them, wiping them away. He put the letter back in the envelope and held it, leaning his head back until the base of his skull touched the door behind him.  
  
“Oh,” he breathed and let himself feel the tumble of emotion that washed through him; all the tenderness, the heat, the awe, and even slight exasperation that Frodo could think he would be offended by anything in the letter. Under it all, the words fed the love welling in his heart, and Sam reveled in it.  
  
_To think that one could love me so,_ he marveled, _to love me and call me his light, to love me even if the stars fall out of the sky. Maybe it’s all just nice words, but he has to feel something like what I’m feeling to write that. My Frodo couldn’t write something as beautiful as that and not mean it._ Sam laughed then softly to himself. _Is this the same lad that was not a few days ago crying and asking me why no one had ever told him that it was alright for him to love a lad? He’s never faltered for long. And once he gets his bearing and he sets out to do something, he does it with his whole heart. And I love him for it._  
  
He sighed once more, and then impulsively took the letter out and read it again.

  
♦

  
Bilbo hummed as he cut into the treacle sponge pudding, depositing a hunk onto a small plate and put it in front of his nephew. Frodo took up his fork and poked at the dessert absently.  
  
“Here now, don’t play with it,” Bilbo scolded.  
  
“Are you going to tell me where it came from?” Frodo asked, “You didn’t make it.”  
  
“So?” Bilbo asked a little defensively.  
  
“You were in town a long time today,” Frodo said looking down and cut off a piece of the pudding.  
  
“I had business to attend to,” Bilbo said stiffly, though he secretly enjoyed Frodo teasing him. It wasn’t often that he tested wits with Frodo and there was a certain amount of satisfaction in running circles around the boy with words.  
  
“Business at Delphinium Burrows smial?” Frodo asked, popping a bite of the dessert into his mouth.  
  
“What makes you think that?” Bilbo asked him, eyebrows raised. “Any matron could have gifted me a pudding. Or I could have bought it for that matter.”  
  
“The plate is engraved D.B.” Frodo grinned and ate another bite.  
  
“Maybe I went to Frogmorton and visited my aunty Diamond Baggins,” Bilbo huffed. Frodo laughed, delighted.  
  
“I find that slightly improbable. Your aunty Diamond has been dead for two years now,” Frodo said wickedly, “I must say, Miss Delphinium does know her way round a pudding.”  
  
“It was a sign of truce between us,” Bilbo said quickly, “she’s decided to stop her obstruction in the committee and allow my motion to be voted on tomorrow,” he said proudly. Frodo paused and stared down at his plate.  
  
“You’re not eating, Bilbo,” he said flatly.  
  
“I’m waiting to see if you get ill,” Bilbo replied and laughed when Frodo looked up at him, face drained of color. “Oh my lad, don’t look like that! I’m teasing you. Here, I’ll eat a bit. No, she’s not that bad of an old lass, after all.”  
  
“I didn’t know political negotiations in the festival committee got that heated,” Frodo said, drinking a large sip of wine, staring at Bilbo over the rim of his glass.  
  
“Any time you set Delphinium Burrows the task of agreeing to anything with anyone there will be bloody war.”  
  
“Really Bilbo, I never took you for a woman-hater,” Frodo said frowning. Bilbo looked up at him, offended.  
  
“I most certainly am not,” he said, “it's just that there are a few committee members who are spiteful for sport.”  
  
"Not you, though," Frodo murmured. Bilbo frowned at him.  
  
"What was that? My hearing is going, you know. Speak up."  
  
“It's just all of this fighting with Delphinium Burrows," Frodo said, "it almost sounds like the gossip from the Sackville-Bagginses might have a shade of truth to it…” Bilbo squirmed uncomfortably.  
  
“It was a long time ago,” he muttered. Frodo looked up, interested.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Quite a long time ago,” Bilbo growled.  
  
“I see. She’s holding up committee business on account of an old lover’s quarrel.”  
  
“Really Frodo! You make it sound like something out of a penny novel,” he said, “it’s hardly any of that. But I suppose it’s possible the old girl had a grudge of some kind, and now we’ve settled it. Life goes on and the festival will finally have a theme.”  
  
“A theme?” Frodo frowned, “That’s what all this has been about? Oh Bilbo, it’s just dancing and flowers. Why ever would you need a theme?”  
  
“The festival in Michel Delving has a theme. _Free your glee,_ I believe it was.”  
  
“That’s atrocious,” Frodo said in horror, “it sounds like an advert for a pleasure house.”  
  
“I liked, _Fun for the Whole Heard_ , myself,” Bilbo mused and Frodo groaned.  
  
“Oh no… Bilbo,” he said putting his face in his hands.  
  
“What? My lad, you’re very old fashioned,” Bilbo commented. “Anyway, we haven’t decided on a theme yet. Just whether or not to have one.” Frodo muttered darkly as he finished his dessert.  
  
“Well, you must have had some other business today,” Frodo said at length. “You dragged Mr. Gamgee off with you.”  
  
“Oh, we went to the pub,” Bilbo said, “And I had some business with the mayor and then did a bit of shopping.”  
  
“You went to the Bush?” Frodo asked, frowning a little. Bilbo had a moment of unease, remembering that he had left Frodo behind, never considering that Frodo might have liked an outing.  
  
“Er, well,” he said uncomfortably, “yes, and I would have asked you lad, but then the business with the mayor and the other things… well I wouldn’t have wanted you to feel obligated.”  
  
“No it’s,” Frodo paused, “Sam said some in the village already know about…” he fidgeted uncomfortably, “was there talk at the pub?”  
  
“A bit,” Bilbo said reluctantly.  
  
“Hm,” Frodo said, looking trouble.  
  
“Don’t worry so,” Bilbo told him quietly, “actually, you’d be surprised. Several of the old lads took up for you.” Frodo’s brow knitted.  
  
“Really? I wonder why,” he said mystified. Bilbo chuckled.  
  
“I believe it was Bill Proudfoot that said, 'Mr. Frodo taking a lad to his bed has never made anyone late for dinner'.” Frodo’s face flushed red.  
  
“Oh bullocks,” he groaned and hid his face in his hands.  
  
“I know,” Bilbo said consolingly, “you don’t like to be the center of attention, but really this is the best that we could hope for.”  
  
“Maybe,” Frodo admitted, “but I can’t help being mortified that the gaffers at the Bush are suddenly so concerned with the goings on in my bed.”  
  
“It’s just a bit of gossip, my boy,” Bilbo said, “they’ll move on to something else soon enough. Especially once Lotho stops stirring them up.” Frodo looked up, his eyes widening.  
  
“Lotho?” he said quietly, “he was at the pub?” Bilbo winced.  
  
“Ah, yes,” he said regretting letting that slip. “He was the one bringing it up you see. But the lads told him off for it. Lotho was very disappointed with their reaction.”  
  
“I suppose that’s encouraging,” Frodo said slowly.  
  
“Never mind about it, it will all be sorted,” Bilbo assured him, giving him a smile, which Frodo returned. Bilbo couldn't help but be troubled on Frodo’s behalf, yet he told himself that he would not permit anything to happen to his heir. It was a little startling to the old hobbit at just how protective he suddenly felt. He had never credited himself with any paternal instincts. As if sensing the train of his thoughts Frodo said quietly,  
  
“You really are a wonderful guardian. I couldn’t ask for better.”  
  
“I, oh well, I do my best,” Bilbo said uncomfortably, “I’m sure I let you down in ways I don’t see, but I do my best. You know I’ve never…” he left off painfully but pushed on, “I’ve never tried to be a parent to you. I should fall flat on my face if I ever tried.” Frodo stared at him for a long moment and shook his head.  
  
“Co-conspirators to the end. That’s us,” Frodo said at last and Bilbo smiled at the boy.

♦

Sam surveyed the fields stretched out before him and grinned at the clear blue sky. He was in high spirits and the fair weather cheered him further. He was walking through his garden back at Number Three, carefully avoiding the workers, not wanting to get in their way. A few waved at him and Sam waved back as he made his way to the side of the smial to peer into his flower garden. He had noted that his blooms had not suffered the harder fate that Bag End’s garden had suffered, being slightly more sheltered, and further along in their growth. He jumped the short fence and crouched down in the valerians and the garden daisies. These were hearty flowers and had not let him down yet. He eased his hand down and plucked three of the prettiest white daisies and set off for Bag End.  
  
It was his day off, but Sam had not been in the garden in several days, first because of his work at the Bracegirdle’s and then the chimney incident and the waterlogged soil. It was still too damp to do too much without tearing up the soil but Sam wanted to catch up as much as he could. The Gaffer had frowned when Sam told him his plans.  
  
“You go poking around you’ll break up the dirt and we’ll get clods,” he had cautioned.  
  
“I’ll not poke around. I just want to have a look at what the rain done and see if there’s ought I can do around Bag End,” he said. The Gaffer had given him a hard look at made Sam blush but the old gardener had relented.  
  
“Alright, but don’t be at it all day. I’ll need you over at the Cottons with me today. We’ll be working on the festival decorations and hauling out the Cotton’s potted flowers.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam had agreed and set off. The festival was only two days away and they were a bit behind on preparations, but the Cottons had pitched in and Sam had no doubt everything would be ready by festival time. They couldn’t let down Bilbo, after all.  
  
Sam made his way up the hill and found himself at the back gate to Bag End’s garden. He unlatched the gate and passed inside. All was quiet on the hill, the fair morning breeze stirring the bushes and trees around him. Sam walked through the garden, frowning a little at the wet soil and the water trails that ran through it now. He itched to get back into it but knew his father was right. He could only do more damage than good until it dried out properly.  
  
He drew close to Frodo’s window and listened carefully. He didn’t want to wake Frodo but if he heard movement then maybe he could wish him good morning and-  
  
A pale face appeared at the window and Frodo leaned out, catching sight of Sam and smiled.  
  
“Good morning."  
  
“Good morning,” Sam returned and strode closer to the window sill. “How are you?” he asked.  
  
“Very well thank you,” Frodo said, his eyes moving to the white flowers and his expression softened. “Are those for me?” he asked quietly. Sam nodded and held them up, his wits deserting him. Not only was he overcome suddenly by the memory of Frodo’s letter, but Frodo was sleep mussed and fair in the morning light in a way that was making Sam ache to touch him. Instead he leaned against the window sill and put the flowers into Frodo’s hands.  
  
“Daisies?"

"Aye,” he said, “they’re hearty pretty things. I thought you might like them.”  
  
“I like them very much,” Frodo said quietly, as he gazed first that the flowers and then down at Sam.  
  
“I read your letter,” Sam blurted and flushed. Frodo’s gaze intensified and Sam wanted to look away, but he didn’t. He was surprised then when Frodo’s cheeks went pink and he looked away. Hastily Sam added, “it was beautiful.” Frodo met his eyes again.  
  
“Really?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Yes,” Sam said, clutching the sill, “warmed me heart to know you feel that way.” He took a breath, “ah, I love you, so.” Something in Frodo’s face opened and Sam saw the play of emotion in those features that was usually hidden. Frodo’s hand moved and lay over his own clutching it gently.  
  
“I love you too,” Frodo murmured. They were quiet a moment and to Sam it seemed as if the whole garden stilled, waiting and watching. Frodo’s lips parted and he added, “do you have time to come inside?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam answered. He didn’t quite know what he was answering, except that he knew there was more behind Frodo’s words than just an invitation to chat over breakfast. He shivered and drew his hand away. “The kitchen…?” he asked shakily. Frodo nodded.  
  
“I’ll be there in a moment. Let me change out of my night shirt.” Sam looked down and for the first time noticed the shirt Frodo wore was a thin white shirt, which looked soft and buttery against his skin. Sam’s mouth went dry.  
  
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen then,” he said and stepped away before Frodo caught him staring.  
  
“Alright,” Frodo answered in a tone that suggested that he had seen Sam staring, but Sam had already turned away and was making his way through the garden to the kitchen door. He slipped into the cool dark smial and tried to catch his breath and stop his hands from trembling. He didn’t want Bilbo to seen him so shaken and took several deep breaths before realizing that he didn’t hear the old master, and that he should have been bustling around the kitchen or at least in the study. Yet there was no sound from within the smial. Sam shivered again and sat down at the table.  
  
_Ninnyhammer,_ he told himself, _what are you afraid of? Even if Mr. Bilbo’s not here the most Frodo is likely to do is kiss you, and you’ve done that before._  
  
_Yes,_ a small voice whispered in his head, _but before neither of us had spoken so bold. We didn’t know how dear we were to one another, didn’t know if this courtship would last the week. Now…_  
There was a soft sound from the hallway and Sam turned to see Frodo approaching, dressed now in trousers and a button up shirt with bracers. Sam’s flowers were clasped in his hands. Frodo smiled at him, calming Sam’s nerves.  
  
“These are so lovely,” Frodo said, “I think they would look nice in my study. Will you help me find a vase?” Sam stood, relaxing further. Frodo knew how to set him at ease, knew that a practical task would make him feel comforted and welcomed.  
  
“I think Mr. Bilbo keeps them in the second pantry,” Sam said and moved toward the back of the kitchen. With a soft hum Frodo followed him into the cramped space. Sam went to the back and studied the shelves, with the various glass bottles and vases. He selected a thin tall one and turned to give it to Frodo. Frodo was looking at him with a soft heat in his eyes and wasn’t bothering to disguise it. He took the vase from Sam and put the flowers in it then set it on the shelf to admire.  
  
“I think I’ll put them on my desk. I like having something bright and cheery there. The room can get so dark,” he murmured and stepped closer, sliding and hand up to light on Sam’s shoulder. Sam took a breath and let Frodo guide him closer, and closed his eyes when Frodo’s hand came up to stroke his cheek. “You’re shy today,” Frodo murmured close to his ear, making Sam shiver. He laughed softly, embarrassed.  
  
“Maybe so,” he admitted and opened his eyes to find Frodo gazing at him, looking utterly charmed.  
  
“Why?” Frodo asked curiously.  
  
“Are we…” Sam started, feeling his nerves building again, “what are we… erm, where is Mr. Bilbo?”  
  
“He’s gone to town to do his committee work. He won’t be back until after lunch,” Frodo said quietly, letting his hand go back to rest reassuringly on Sam’s shoulder, “and,” he continued in a low voice, “we can do whatever you like.” Sam bit his lips and gazed the floor, smiling. _Well, that's a long list,_ he thought, though he still hadn’t banished his nerves.  
  
“I’d like to… be a bit closer to you,” Sam murmured and realized this didn’t exactly tell Frodo what he wanted. “Maybe we could go just a bit farther than we have.” Not much better, but he couldn’t bring himself to try again. Frodo considered this quietly and nodded.  
  
“Alright,” he said. “Why don’t we put the flowers in my study and sit together in there for a bit?”  
  
“Aye,” Sam said agreeably and they moved away from one another, Frodo taking down the flower vase and led the way out and back into the kitchen. He ladled a bit of water into the vase from the kitchen water and then went out into the hall and down to his study door. Sam followed him, his heart hammering. Frodo went to his desk and set the vase down.  
  
“That’s lovely,” he said, “They remind me of you, you know. It will be nice to sit and look at them while I work.”  
  
“I’m glad you like them,” Sam said feeling happy at Frodo’s words, “Maybe… maybe I could write you a letter too. Then you’d have my words too.” Frodo turned and gave him a bright smile.  
  
“I would like that,” he said, “you must have enjoyed the letter. I was afraid I got too...” he waved trying to find the right word and failed. Sam shook his head.  
  
“Nay. It was just right,” he said, “It made me feel that special.” Frodo’s smile turned sweet.  
  
“You are special,” he said and went to Sam’s side, leading him to the small pillowed settle close to the fireplace. They sat together and at last Sam felt his nerves ease. This was Frodo, his dear Frodo and whatever happened he trusted him implicitly. Gently Frodo took his hand. “Are you happy in all this?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Yes,” Sam said and found that it was true. Even if he was troubled by the points that Daisy had raised, and even troubled by her misgivings, he could not feel unhappy. Frodo drew closer, his shoulder pressing familiarly on one side, but he gazed down, looking troubled himself.  
  
“You were so upset yesterday,” he said, “and there will be more trouble, now that the village is starting to talk.”  
  
“I don’t mind that,” Sam answered, “Or rather, I guess I do mind it, especially if it causes you or my family grief, but that sort of thing,” he shook his head, “it’s so small compared to what I feel for you.” Frodo frowned a little.  
  
“I think maybe we could be infatuated with one another. That won’t last, you know. And the trouble may keep building,” he said quietly.   
  
"Does that bother you?" Sam asked.  
  
"It troubles me," Frodo murmured, "I worry mostly about what could happen to you."  
  
"What do you fear?"  
  
"I don't know. I only know that you courting me will draw attention. And I'm afraid that attention will be focused on you," Frodo closed his eyes, pain coming into his face. "There was certainly a lot of attention suddenly focused on me when it was discovered I had been with a lad back in Brandy Hall, back before I had Bilbo to protect me." Sam felt his inside tighten at that look of pain in Frodo's face. He couldn't bear it.  
  
"Attention, was it?" he murmured, "you said they didn't beat you. But what did they do?"  
  
"Oh," Frodo sighed, "nothing worth being upset over, really. Hard talking to, is all it amounted to." Sam felt a deep cold anger toward the Brandybucks settle into his heart as he pressed closer. Frodo opened his eyes and bent slightly to kiss Sam's cheek. "And," he added, "Uncle Saradoc had a doctor come and talk with me back then.” Sam’s eyes widened.  
  
“He thought you had caught something?” he asked. Frodo shook his head.  
  
“It wasn’t that sort of doctor,” he said, “he told me that I was wrong inside, that I had acquired the sort of internal desires that a lass has instead of the ones a lad is supposed to have. He called me an invert.”  
  
“Did they try and change you?” Sam asked, shocked.  
  
“Not really,” Frodo said wearily, “they frightened me so that I didn’t want much of anyone, but it did make me angry too. I felt that I had to prove them wrong, that I was a lad with a lad’s desires. So over the next few years I laid with lasses and cuddled them where I would be seen. I liked it fine too, but the idea of being inverted still disturbed me, so that I didn’t particularly want to lay down with anyone, lest I channel some desire I ought not to have.” He sighed, “It was such a relief to come and live at Bag End where no one knew of my past. No one would be looking for my peculiarity. I was so careful never to reveal it to the hobbits here.”  
  
“And then that Brandybuck come and told Mr. Bilbo,” Sam said softly.  
  
“Yes. And after years of being so careful,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“I’m so sorry you thought you had to be careful with us,” Sam said and took his hand. "You know that doctor was wrong, don't you?" he added quietly, "there's naught wrong with you." Frodo took a breath and nodded, his gaze lowering.   
  
"And I was a fool to think I had to hide it all away, afraid that Bilbo or you might judge me harshly for this.”  
  
“Foolish maybe, but not a fool,” Sam told him gruffly.  
  
"Thank you," Frodo sighed, "I don't know what form the attention will take for you. I can only hope that the hobbits around here won't be hard on you. I hope that it's evident to everyone that Bilbo will protect us both, and not just me." Sam blinked. He'd been so concerned with the personal troubles that Daisy raised that he hadn't thought much about the village.  
  
"Don't be troubled," Sam murmured, "the hobbits around here may be set in their ways and some of them small minded, but they're good people. I truly believe that." He paused, closing his eyes, "Besides, whatever trouble may come, I feel like it could never be strong enough to break what's between us," he took a breath as his nerves returned all at once, “we love each other. You said that wouldn’t change even if the stars fell out of the sky. And that’s the same for me.” Frodo chuckled softly, and put his arm around Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“Please don’t ever tell anyone I used such trite language,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Nay, I’m keeping that letter all for myself,” Sam smiled and curled into Frodo’s embrace.  
  
“Good. That’s not to say I didn’t mean every word of it,” Frodo added softly. “I just want to make sure that I’m not pushing you into something. Especially since it means risking the peaceful life that you have.”  
  
“You’re not pushing me into anything. I want this,” Sam assure him and raising his face kissed Frodo’s cheek. Frodo hummed softly and closed his eyes.  
  
“That’s nice,” he murmured. Sam leaned up and did it again, hooking his fingers around the bracer straps stretched over Frodo’s shoulders. He moved his mouth down and let his lips touched the soft skin below Frodo’s ear and kissed there too. He felt Frodo’s arms tighten around him and heard a soft pleased sigh. He moved a bit lower and tried a new spot, closer to his throat and felt a tremor go through the gentlehobbit.  
  
“Oh,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Is that good?” Sam asked softly.  
  
“Very,” Frodo sighed and began to run his hands up and down Sam’s back, clutching at him when he hit a good spot. After a few languid minutes Frodo tugged him away and Sam gazed up to see color had risen in Frodo’s cheeks and he was breathing deeply. Frodo settled them more comfortably, with Sam leaning back and Frodo laying partially over his chest. Sam squirmed a little, liking the weight of Frodo over him, but still a bit shy at how suggestive their position was. It was putting thoughts in his head, thoughts that his body wholeheartedly approved of. As he shifted he felt the telltale ridge of heat between Frodo’s legs brush against his thigh and paused, noting the shift in Frodo’s breath. Again, he felt a stab of pleasure at the thought that he was capable of arousing such a response and moved his thigh again, pushing aside his doubts and timidity. After all, Frodo had done it to him, hadn’t he?  
  
“Ah,” Frodo gasped and his head dropped to Sam’s chest, his cheek resting there, warm and pleasant, even through the thick shirt fabric. Sam hadn’t risen yet, his nerves had prevented it so far, but now, feeling this warm body draped over his own and the motion of Frodo rubbing his cheek in slow circles against his chest was causing a definite stirring. Frodo turned his head and his eyes sought Sam’s, burning with desire, and just that quick Sam felt his prong swell and go hard. Frodo climbed up his body, resettled against him so that they were chest to chest, though he had moved his hips away, crouching on the narrow settle. He leaned up and his hands cupped Sam’s cheeks, his fingers moving soothingly into his hair and back onto his face, gentle and calming.  
  
“You’re so lovely,” Frodo whispered. “My sweet lad.” Sam reached up and grasped Frodo’s arms.  
  
“Will you kiss me?” he asked and was surprised to hear how breathless his voice sounded. Frodo didn’t answer but leaned down and took his lips in a deep open mouthed kiss. It felt far more erotic than any of the other kisses they had shared, and those had felt passionate enough at the time. But the things Frodo was doing with his tongue was putting him in mind of a passionate tumble. There was heat and wetness and a rhythmic thrusting and lapping and above all, a will to rouse pleasure that Sam was finding himself helpless to resist. He tightened his grip, pulling Frodo’s hips over his own. They pressed together, and though he felt a little friction the thickness of their trousers prevented very much direct stimulation.  
  
Frodo eased his tongue away and sat up, regretfully moving back, drawing Sam up with him. Sam took deep breaths, feeling suddenly embarrassed. He had let himself get too aroused, he was sure, and now Frodo wasn’t looking at him.  
  
“That was probably a bit more than you wanted,” Frodo breathed, “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”  
  
“I did too,” Sam admitted. Frodo cast a rueful look at him.  
  
“It’s hard to stop, isn’t it?” he said. Sam wanted to say, then why should we stop? But he knew the answer. They hadn’t been at this very long, less than a week, and they had both agreed to go slowly. But that argument didn’t feel very satisfactory at the present.  
  
“It is,” Sam murmured. Frodo put his arms back around Sam and pulled him into an embrace.  
  
“You make me feel so wonderful,” Frodo said softly, “I like the way you touch me. It’s always loving, the way you do it.”  
  
“I wouldn’t know any other way to go about it,” Sam murmured against his shoulder, feeling calmed by the embrace. For some reason Frodo chuckled merrily at this and hugged him tighter.  
  
“Dearest,” he said and kissed Sam’s ear tip. Some of the hot tension eased at the tenderness in that gesture and Sam felt a little more amiable. “Poor Sam,” Frodo continued, “I know it’s terrible to stop like this when we get worked up, but I don’t know of any other way to do it. Usually it’s the lass that stops things, or knowing that you could get her with child, or at least make her father very angry,” Frodo sighed, “I suppose we don’t have to stop, but I’m just afraid to let it go too far too quickly. I do want to go carefully with you.”  
  
“Then we shall go carefully,” Sam said quietly and felt grown up for saying it. “It’s alright,” he soothed and found Frodo’s hand, stroking it, “There’s something nice about looking forward to it. Getting ready is pleasant in itself. And you said we would have time and privacy. Made it sound so special and all.”  
  
“Did I?” Frodo asked in a murmur, “I hope it will be. How do you see it? Shall we try for an afternoon? An evening? Or,” he paused, “would you like to lay with me all night?”  
  
“I would love to lay with you all night,” Sam smiled at the picture this conjured, “though, that would make it plain to everyone what we were up to.”  
  
“It would, wouldn’t it?” Frodo laughed.  
  
“An evening wouldn’t be bad,” Sam said thoughtfully, “It would be cool, and we could take our time and even lay together a few hours after. I could go down the row when it got late and the family might guess what I had been up to, but they wouldn’t know for sure.” Frodo hummed agreeably. A moment of silence passed between them.  
  
“I suppose you never had to stop with your lad?” Frodo asked quietly.  
  
“No,” Sam admitted. He felt Frodo shift a little and pulled himself closer, trying to give him some reassurance. “T’was no wooing between us,” Sam went on softly. “It was trying to relieve tension, that’s all. I never kissed him and I never spoke love words to him.”  
  
“I understand,” Frodo murmured. “Did you…” he broke off and Sam was about to look up when he felt Frodo’s hand stroking gently in his hair and he continued, “I don’t mean to pry. But I’m curious about what experiences you’ve had. You said you laid with him?” Sam paused, trying to find his words, embarrassed, but willing if this was important to Frodo, as it seemed to be. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to,” Frodo added hastily, “It’s just that when we do lay together I want to give you something wonderful. Something new, if I can.”  
  
“You don’t have to…” Sam murmured uncomfortably, “there’s no need to think on it that way. Being with you will make it wonderful and new. It will be glorious, no matter what we do,” he said quietly. “Don’t be thinking you have to impress me.”  
  
“Well,” Frodo said, and Sam could hear the embarrassment in his voice.  
  
“When I said that,” Sam went on hesitantly, “I just meant we brought each other off, really. We used our hands mostly and laid on each other. He never breached me, nor I him,” he said, and pushed on, deciding it was better to get it all out, “I sucked him once, but he wouldn’t for me. A lass did it for me once but she said she didn’t like it, so I didn’t like to ask after that. That’s all really. Besides a few kisses with lasses and rubbing against them sometimes.” He sighed, feeling flustered by the admissions.  
  
“Oh my dear,” Frodo said unhappily, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam twisted up to look at Frodo, “I trust you.”  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said smiling wanly, “but you needn’t ever tell me anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”  
  
“That’s alright. I think maybe we should know a little about each other’s experiences before we go into this,” he said, “especially if there’s anything we don’t like.”  
  
“Is there anything you don’t like?”  
  
“Not that I know of,” Sam said carefully, “But I will tell you if ever there is.”  
  
“Good,” Frodo nodded and gazed at the rug before them. Sam waited, sensing Frodo was gathering his thoughts. He felt Frodo’s arm tighten and with a sigh Frodo continued, “The boy I was with in Buckland, it wasn’t exactly like your lad, you see. We kissed and did most anything we could think of for each other’s pleasure. We didn’t speak as lovers, but we were friends and there was a tenderness to it,” he said quietly. “I don’t mean to hurt you, telling you these things. I should have left all this alone,” Frodo said mournfully.  
  
“Nay now,” Sam sat up and put his own arm around Frodo, “It’s not like that. I’m glad you had tenderness with that lad. I wouldn’t want you to have been treated coldly. You deserve to have good memories of those experiences.”  
  
“It was good,” Frodo said softly, “while it lasted.”  
  
“Was there anything you didn’t like?” Sam asked quietly and saw Frodo frown thoughtfully.  
  
“No. Except,” his frown deepened and he looked away, “I suppose it came of not knowing him terribly well, but he would sometimes defer to what I wanted because of who I was.”  
  
“Do I do that?” Sam asked softly. Frodo’s eyes lifted and studied him frankly.  
  
“Yes, sometimes,” he said, “but you’ve never made me feel as if I were taking advantage. I haven’t have I?”  
  
“No,” Sam said quietly, “Not really. You’ve charm enough to take my wits, but you’ve always treated me kindly and respected me. Never done anything I wasn’t happy with. And,” he smiled slightly, “if you’re very daft about something, I’ve learned to stand up to you.”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo said laughing, “the truth out at last.”  
  
“You know I don’t mean harm,” Sam murmured slightly abashed.  
  
“I know,” Frodo assured him, “And I do understand that we can’t completely uproot the world’s order.” Sam laughed with him.  
  
“There’s times you make me wonder. You’re so bold an all,” he said.  
  
“You only say that because you haven’t realized how bold you are,” Frodo said gently. “And I think it’s a wonderful thing, to see that in you.”  
  
“I couldn’t be like that without you,” Sam spoke honestly. “You give me that much courage.”  
  
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Frodo said quietly, “But I will take it as I have changed your life for the better.”  
  
“You have,” Sam assured him.  
  
“And you, mine,” Frodo sighed and turned to gaze at him. Sam smiled shyly at him and looked down, feeling wonderfully happy.  
  
“I wonder if any of the borage escaped the downpour,” he said slyly. Frodo’s brow knit slightly.  
  
“Is that a plant?” he asked.  
  
“Aye, tis called starflower sometimes. I like that name better,” Sam murmured.  
  
“And just what is a starflower?”  
  
“Tis an herb and has a pretty blue flower on it.”  
  
“And why should you wonder if this plant escaped the downpour?” Frodo asked patiently, though he looked as if he liked this banter. Sam hoped he did anyway, for he was finding that he enjoyed teasing Frodo.  
  
“In the flower language starflower is used for courage,” he said. “Or for bluntness, depending on the book. I like courage a might better for it.”  
  
“Are you thinking of using it in my corsage or are you hinting that I might use it in yours?” Frodo asked. “Maybe its courage for you and bluntness for me?”  
  
“Don’t be silly now, and I’d not be saying neither ways about who gets what,” Sam said grinning.  
  
“Of course not. It’s to be a surprise,” Frodo conceded, then frowned, “How soon is the festival?” he asked, “I thought it wasn’t for another week.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Sam said chuckling, “It’s in two days. My sisters have been weaving wreaths for days now.”  
  
“Have they?” Frodo said, worry entering his voice, “I don’t know where my mind has gone. I suppose I lost track of the days. We have had some busy ones lately.”  
  
“That we have,” Sam agreed.  
  
“Well that must mean that you and your father have been working on something spectacular,” Frodo said casting a penetrative look at the gardener’s son.  
  
“Oh I don’t know,” Sam said, grinning.  
  
“More secrets, Samwise?” Frodo asked him ruefully, “This festival is very mysterious.” He chuckled and went on, “The Gamgee decorations are always something so grand we never know how you manage it. Last year was the great hollowed trees with candles inside that made them light up and below all your potted plants, and they had some sort of concoction on them, so they shone in the candle light.”  
  
“I didn’t know you took such notice of it,” Sam said surprised.  
  
“How could I not? It was beautiful. Besides, Bilbo was having a wonderful time pointing out that the Gamgees were not only the best gardeners in the Shire but the best at festival decorations and home-brewing and anything else he thought he could convince the gentlehobbits of.”  
  
“He did not!”  
  
“He did,” Frodo laughed and leaned closer, “And this year?” Sam leaned away, fixing Frodo with a hard look, though he couldn’t help but smile.  
  
“That would be telling now,” he said.  
  
“Tell me then,” Frodo said teasingly and took Sam’s hands in his.  
  
“Tis a secret,” Sam murmured as Frodo’s hands moved up to stroke his forearms. He hadn’t thought that could feel so nice.  
  
“You really won’t tell me?” Frodo wheedled softly. Sam smiled, knowing he had won.  
  
“No me dear,” he said and brought one of Frodo’s hands up to kiss it.  
  
“Then grant me a boon,” Frodo murmured, watching Sam cradle his hand.  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“A dance,” Frodo said quietly, “I want to dance with you at the festival.”  
  
“You would want to?” Sam asked, a little surprised. The dancing wasn’t only lads and lasses; very often lasses danced with lasses and lads danced with lads, and it wasn’t taken as anything more than pleasant pastime. In fact, last year Frodo had asked him to dance and Sam had felt no hesitation about accepting the offer and had greatly enjoyed laughing and twirling about the field with Frodo. But this year it was likely that many had already heard the rumors about them. It wouldn’t be viewed as an innocent dance and it would be pushing their courtship in the village’s face, whether they would see it or not. It was a little intimidating, at the very least.  
  
“I would, if you want to as well,” Frodo said quietly. Sam considered this. If he could forget the village looking on it would be very nice to hold Frodo to him and move to the music.  
  
“I would like it,” Sam said slowly, “Though it might be a bit scary with most of Hobbiton and Bywater looking on.” Frodo hummed sympathetically.  
  
“We’ll see, how it is, shall we, before we decide,” he said easily, “then maybe we can live up to your starflower, and be brave.”  
  
“I suppose I could be brave,” Sam said.  
  
“That’s my lad,” Frodo murmured and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.  
  
“Can I ask a boon of you?” Sam asked quietly.  
  
“Of course,” Frodo said, drawing away to consider him. Sam met his eyes and gave him a solemn look.  
  
“Could we meet tonight and go up on the hill and look at the stars?” he asked. Frodo grinned and eased back, shaking his head disbelievingly. “What?” Sam asked, feeling himself smile as well.  
  
“You were so serious! And here I thought you were going to propose something dire,” Frodo said.  
  
“I haven’t any reason to ask something dire,” Sam said, “And I’ve been wanting to go up on the hill and spend some quiet time with you. We deserve a bit of peace I think.”  
  
“It sounds like a wonderful way to spend an evening,” Frodo said, “I would like it very much.”  
  
“And could you tell me a story?” Sam asked softly, feeling slightly embarrassed at the sound of his request, for it sounded like something he would have asked Frodo ten years ago. The look that Frodo gave him, however, was not the sort of look he would have given an eight year old Sam.  
  
“Yes. Anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower Note  
> Daisy: I share your sentiments


	10. Chapter 10

It was after tea time when Frodo heard the front door open and the sound of voices coming down the hall. He rose from his desk, stretching and went out to greet his uncle. He could hear Bilbo grumbling from the kitchen so he padded down the hall and paused at the kitchen entryway. Sam was shrugging off pack straps and hefting the heavy cloth bags up onto the counter to be unloaded.  
  
“Who ever heard of goats at a flower festival anyway? It’s a recipe for disaster if you want my opinion. Don’t you agree, my boy?” Bilbo said, his back turned away from Frodo. Sam caught sight of him and smiled as he answered.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said, “Folks ought to know better, lest they’re planning on keeping them penned up.”  
  
“Exactly! But they won’t be building the pens, they’ll be expecting the committee to do it, and this is all rather late notice for- oh, hullo Frodo,” he said turning.  
  
“Hello,” Frodo said, “Sounds as if you had quite a meeting. Did the committee decide on a theme yet?” Sam’s eyes went wide in a look of warning and he shook his head but it was too late. Bilbo went red in the face and puffed his cheeks out. “Oh dear. Never mind it,” Frodo tried. Bilbo took a deep breath and said slowly,  
  
“ _…Come sow the seeds of summer fancy and flowery fun_.”  
  
The three hobbits stood in grave silence for a long moment. Sam gingerly lifted out a few of the cold cellar items and slunk off.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Bilbo,” Frodo said in what he hoped was a solemn enough voice. “Mrs. Delphinium has had her revenge after all.” Bilbo let out a sigh.  
  
“I’m going to go have a smoke,” he said, “Be a good lad and help Sam put away the food stuffs.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said contritely, “Can I make you tea?”  
  
“Yes please,” Bilbo said, sounding a little more amiable as he left the kitchen. “See if we have any dandelion tea. I’ve taken a liking to the stuff.” Frodo raised his eyebrows but went to the tea drawer. Personally he did not care for dandelion tea, it was far too bitter like coffee, but Bilbo enjoyed it and Frodo had enjoyed making trips into the countryside to watch Sam harvest the taproots that he would later cut and dry and roast. Frodo had gone along to snip off the yellow heads and collect them for making dandelion wine.  
  
Bilbo retired to his study while Frodo brewed the tea and in a few minutes Sam returned from the cellar and entered the kitchen once more. He sent a warm look Frodo’s way in greeting and Frodo smiled slightly at him. Together they stacked the food stuffs in the pantry. Sam hefted the flour sack and Frodo pulled it up to the middle shelf where it would be easiest to reach.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam said.  
  
“You’re welcome. I thought you were at the Cotton’s today,” Frodo said quietly. Sam nodded.  
  
“I was. Then as me and da were coming home we met Mr. Bilbo on the road carrying all those heavy sacks. So I offered to help him carry.”  
  
“That was kind of you,” Frodo said softly.  
  
“I’m to help with dinner and washing up but then I thought I might come back up here, if you still want to go out on the hill tonight,” Sam murmured.  
  
“Of course I do,” Frodo smiled slightly, “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”  
  
“Ah. Me too,” Sam said. They finished putting everything away and Sam took his leave. Frodo watched him go, then turned his attention back to the tea he was supposed to be preparing for his uncle.

♦

  
Bilbo stretched and stood heading for the kitchen. He was still exhausted from listening to the committee members argue over the festival theme. He deeply regretted suggesting that they have one in the first place. And the one they had decided on…He snorted and tried to think about something else.  
  
As Bilbo passed the study he saw Frodo sitting on the floor in front of the bookcases, a large tome balanced in his lap. The boy was bent over it, deep in study. He paused, curiously.  
  
“What have you got there?” Bilbo asked and predictably Frodo jerked in surprise and stared up at him. His cheeks went pink and he gaped a moment before saying,  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Bilbo laughed.  
  
“Keep your secrets then,” he said, “but I recognize that as Minto Boggy-Hillocks Floral Emblems with Illustrative Poetry, second edition.” Frodo flushed a deeper shade and scowled.  
  
“Composing flower messages is rather more complicated than I remembered,” he said.  
  
“Well, you probably didn’t care so very much before,” Bilbo said in reasonable tones. “I would suggest asking Sam- the boy probably has that book memorized- but I suppose that would defeat the purpose.”  
  
“Exactly,” Frodo sighed. “No one should have the task of composing a corsage for a gardener.” Bilbo chuckled.  
  
“What’s wrong with something simple? Sam will like whatever you give him I suspect.” Frodo shrugged.  
  
“I suppose. But I did want to impress him.” He sighed, “I will find messages that seem to suit, but then I have no idea how to get a hold of the flowers. Most aren’t in season,” he gritted his teeth, “why don’t we have this bloody festival in spring time?” Bilbo laughed.  
  
“Really, there are several things blooming in our garden.”  
  
“I hate to cut them when Sam’s worked so hard to grow them and set them to rights,” Frodo sighed “And I couldn’t bear to seek out another gardener for help. It strikes me as being unfaithful, somehow.” Bilbo bit his lip.  
  
“You could always ask Hamfast,” he said. Frodo gave him an agonized look. “Well, no I suppose not.”  
  
“I don’t suppose you ever made flower messages for anyone?” Frodo asked interestedly.  
  
“Of course I did,” Bilbo said gruffly, “Though this whole flower wearing custom wasn’t so popular when I was young.”  
  
“How did you go about it?” Frodo asked, “Did you ask Holman to help you?”  
  
“Holman had better things to do than mess about with flower fancy, as he called it. No, I wouldn’t have dared,” Bilbo chuckled. “I believe I went wildflower collecting and then looked up the flowers I found and composed the message from what I had. Not the best way perhaps, but it worked well enough for me. Won a few kisses at any rate.”  
  
“I suppose I could try that,” Frodo mumbled casting a last look at the flower book.

♦

As evening drew closer Sam made his way toward the Hill. He whistled happily for a time until he drew closer and began to feel the mixture of feelings he was coming to associate with these trysts. Nerves, happiness, lust, excitement all swirled inside him. He climbed the garden steps and let himself into the west gate, passing the flower beds and the vegetable plots. He paused for a moment, a newly bloomed flower catching his attention and he bent to examine it. Smiling in pleasure he thought of plucking it, but resisted the urge. Sam straightened, lifting his head above the hedge and saw Frodo’s faint outline framed by his round bedroom window. Frodo hadn’t seen him, but was gazing out at the row road. He looked wistful and to Sam’s eyes, beautiful, in the glow of dying sun light.  
  
“Hark!” he cried suddenly. Frodo jerked back and stared at him in surprise.  
  
“Sam!” he gasped, “what in the Shire?” Sam stood up, taken suddenly by a whim.  
  
“I cried out because I was taken so by the sight of my fair lad crowned by dusk’s glory and framed by living vine.” Frodo stood up straighter and frowned.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” he said in mock sternness. Sam grinned and came forward, speaking in a low solemn voice, the same voice he used for reading out poetry from Bilbo’s books.  
  
“When a lad sees such a radiance as you, touched by nature’s glory, bathed in summer light, he must cry out or lose the chance at love’s discovery, forsaking his delight.” Frodo winced, probably from the badness of the verse. He stuck his pipe in his mouth and chewed it speculatively, looking as if he were stifling laughter.  
  
“Aherm- What are you quoting from?” he asked.  
  
“Naught but from my heart,” Sam laughed and to his pleasure Frodo blushed, while trying to look all together unmoved by his words. “my heart charmed, hopeful that my fine lad should linger and be pleased in the garden that his love tends for him, though it cannot hope to match him in sweetness or fairness.” Frodo continued to chew his pipe, leaning against the window sill.  
  
“My love’s flowers are fair things,” Frodo said slowly, “how can you know that this lad is fairer than the bright blooms? They are, after all, the envy of the Farthing. And this lad, I would guess, would not claim such a boast as this.” Sam considered for a moment before answering,  
  
“Oh aye, he is unsuspicious, full of charm unconscious. And as you say, the flowers are fair and fragrant,” Sam admitted, “But he is as far above the flowers as the stars in the sky. Aye, he is very like the stars.”  
  
“Cold and distant?” Frodo asked, smirking.  
  
“Bright and hopeful, with the power to comfort and sooth away worry,” Sam said, striding along the lane of rose bushes.  
  
“And what of clouded nights?” Frodo asked softly.  
  
“The clouds matter not, me dear,” Sam said gazing up at him, coming to stand under his window, “for above that darkness beyond the clouds, the stars shine, whether we can see them or no. And so it is with my love.” He bowed his head suddenly a little shy, “For I know he loves me, even when I cannot be at his side. Even when I cannot speak my love to him. The thought of him gives me peace and hope enough to stand against any hardness in this world.”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo sighed, sounding touched. “Dearest Sam, I adore you,” he murmured. Sam set his chin on the window sill and smiled.  
  
“And my moonshine?” he asked, closing his eyes as Frodo’s hand lit on his hair, stroking his hair.  
  
“And your moonshine,” Frodo assured him.  
  
“And my bad poetry?” Sam chuckled.  
  
“Well,” Frodo paused, squinting down at him, “perhaps you have been reading too much of the elvish troubadours.”  
  
“You said you’d find me something a bit naughtier,” Sam murmured, pleased by the way that Frodo kept stroking his curls.  
  
“So I did,” Frodo said. “And so I found one for our story on the Hill tonight.” Sam felt his cheeks go hot.  
  
“Oh,” he sighed.  
  
They climbed the hill together after gathering a few items, a blanket to sit on, a basket of provisions to nibble on and a bottle of wine with glasses. Frodo collected a small leather bound book that Sam had never seen before and received a mysterious grin when he asked about it.  
  
“It’s kept on a high shelf,” was all that Frodo would say. They came up to the top of the hill, a wide mound full of untamed soft grass, dotted with white and yellow wild flowers, and at the head of the Hill, the old oak that twisted down over the grand smial itself. They set the blanket close to the tree, but faced away from it, looking out into the sky over the countryside they both knew so well. Frodo opened the wine and poured a bit for both of them, then settled back to read from his mysterious book. Clearing his throat he read,

 

 

>   
>  _I dream'd this mortal part of mine_
> 
> _Was metamorphoz'd to a vine,_  
>  _  
> Which crawling one and every way_  
>  _  
> Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia._  
>  _  
> Methought her long small legs and thighs_  
>  _  
> I with my tendrils did surprize;_  
>  _  
> Her belly, buttocks, and her waist_  
>  _  
> By my soft nerv'lits were embrac'd._

  
  
“Oh my,” Sam murmured and grinned. Frodo looked up and chuckled.  
  
“I told you,” he said.  
  
“A plant eh?” Sam said peering at him. Frodo shrugged.  
  
“Think what you like,” he said smiling, “But you must have noticed how many euphemisms use plants to stand in for what they really mean.” Sam rolled his eyes.  
  
“Aye, I get to hear it all laughed over in the pub all the time. 'Oy Sam, handle any taters today? Sow any wild oats? Spy any pretty rosebuds?'”  
  
“Plant any seed?” Frodo laughed, “Plow any furrow?”  
  
“Now, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said pretending to be shocked, which only made Frodo laugh harder.  
  
“Shall I finish the poem?” Frodo asked. “I don’t want to scandalize you now.”  
  
“Oh, go ahead then,” Sam said and Frodo continued,

 

 

> _  
> My curls about her neck did craule,_  
>  _  
> And armes and hands they did enthrall,_  
>  _  
> So that she could not freely stir_  
>  _  
> (All parts there made one prisoner)._  
>  _  
> But when I crept with leaves to hide_  
>  _  
> Those parts which maids keep unespy'd,_  
>  _  
> Such fleeting pleasures there I took_  
>  _  
> That with the fancie I awoke;_  
>  _  
> And found (ah me!) this flesh of mine_  
>  _  
> More like a stock than like a vine._

  
  
Frodo paused and glanced over at Sam who was watching the last shreds of sunlight fade away.  
  
“Well, mercy me,” Sam said, blushing a little, “fancy that elves would write about such a thing.”  
  
“This one was written by a man, I believe, but elves aren’t above writing on such things.” Sam smiled, feeling warm and pleased from the vision.  
  
“It is a pleasant fancy, I’ll give it that,” he said.  
  
“Oh?” Frodo said turning to him in interest. “Really?” Sam blushed at Frodo’s regard.  
  
“Well! No more than any other lad might find it pleasant, I’m sure. Don’t you like it?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo answered softening his smile and slipped an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “I wasn’t making fun. I find it a very stimulating poem, myself, otherwise I wouldn’t have read it. I suppose I was wondering about what part you found pleasant.”  
  
“Well, all of it,” Sam said frowning, feeling simple and as if he were missing something. “I liked the bit about his hard… er, vine.” He rushed on, “I just never heard such a thing described in a fancy verse. It struck me a bit naughty and funny.”  
  
“It is, isn’t it?” Frodo said and Sam felt relieved that Frodo wasn’t disappointed in his answer, “I think I laughed aloud the first time I read it. I didn’t quite expect it either.”  
  
“And what part do you find pleasant?” Sam asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything else, though he was curious, of course. Frodo paused and went very still.  
  
“I like,” he murmured softly, “well, the idea of dainty Lucia being a bit helpless, bound as she is by her lover. The poem doesn’t say, but I like to think that she enjoys the attentions.” He stared at the grass in front of them, and Sam could tell he was embarrassed. “You may think it’s a bit odd to find that stimulating.” Sam found that he didn’t, the more he thought about it. The way Frodo sounded when he spoke on it, seemed to suggest there might be pleasure in it. Sam shivered and realized he had been quiet a long while and Frodo had gone very red in the face and wasn’t looking at him.  
  
“Nay,” Sam said quietly, “it sounds pleasant, the way you speak on it.” But Frodo was already reaching into the basket to retrieve the wine to pour more. He shrugged.  
  
“Ah well, maybe,” he said and pulled the cork out. He poured a bit more in his glass and lifted the bottle, shooting Sam a questioning look. Sam held his glass out and Frodo poured another glass for him. Sam settled back and cradled the glass, staring out over the hills below dim now in the dying twilight. Sam could already see a few stars, twinkling faintly above.  
  
“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” Frodo asked softly.  
  
“Mhm,” Sam sighed.  
  
“I hardly come up here. Seems a shame to ignore such a fine view.”  
  
“It’s not much different than the view from your bedroom, is it?” Sam asked. Frodo smiled slightly and sipped.  
  
“My bedroom window does give me a view over the hills, but I also see the road and the box hedge. It doesn’t give the same sensation as this place. I almost feel as if I were flying.” Sam gazed out and studied the hills before him, trying to see them as Frodo did. “Perhaps,” Frodo said quietly, “I ought to better acquaint you with the view from my bedroom.” He turned and cast a slightly sly grin Sam’s way. Sam, to his embarrassment felt his cheeks flush hot, though he doubted Frodo could see him blush in the dim light. “Don’t mind me, I’m teasing,” he added. Sam shifted and set his wine glass down.  
  
“I do want to get acquainted with it… And with you,” he licked his lips nervously, “All of you.”  
  
“Ah,” Frodo blinked at him in the dim light, “my talk of making love hasn’t frightened you?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Sam said quietly. _Making love,_ Sam reflected feeling his heart pound. He wasn’t sure they had talked about it in those terms.  
  
“So have you thought more on it?” Frodo asked.  
  
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Sam blurted and there was a short silence. Frodo laughed softly in the still air, but before Sam could feel embarrassed Frodo leaned closer and put an arm around his shoulders.  
  
“I can’t either,” he confessed, “but I was wondering on if you had thought about how soon we might want.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam said in a small voice, “when do you think?” there was another silence, so Sam hurried on to fill it, “We might wait at least until after the flower festival. There’s so much to do and so much bustle on the hill. I shant think either of us will be left alone long enough for any sort of planning.”  
  
“Too true, unfortunately,” Frodo chuckled. The silence stretched again, but it was comfortable this time. The night had truly come now and though there was enough light from the stars to see by, the cool darkness enshrouding them in a protective privacy and intimacy. Frodo set aside his wine glass and lay his head on Sam’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his gardener.  
  
“I find myself thinking of you at night,” Frodo whispered, “I remember some of the things we’ve done, and I think about what it will be like to touch you when you’re bare and lying in my bed.” Sam shivered a little and touched his nose to Frodo’s forehead. “I wonder how I might arouse you when I touch you.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam breathed. No one had ever spoken to him like this before and it was making his blood pound and his cock tingle.  
  
“How do you like to be touched?” Frodo asked him quietly. Sam grappled with an answer for a moment.  
  
“Well,” he said hesitantly, “first I’ll just say everything you’ve done I liked, a lot in fact. I suppose I like what most lads do; I like rubbing and being rubbed. Nothing special really.”  
  
“You’re being shy,” Frodo chided gently, “I shall find out what you like and I will do my best to bring you bliss. Perhaps I should tell you how I like to be touched.”  
  
“I’d like to see how you like to be touched, if it’s all the same to you,” Sam said before he could feel too self-conscious for asking. He heard Frodo take in a surprised breath.  
  
“Hmm, I suppose…” he mused softly, “Though, it is rather dark.”  
  
“If you’re shy, sir, then just say so,” Sam teased and won a laugh.  
  
“Very well. I’m sorry I called you shy,” Frodo said softly and shifted around to sit back on his haunches and unlaced his pants. Sam sat up, interested, his eyes fixed on Frodo’s hands. Frodo looked up and studied him for a moment.  
  
“When you said you wanted to see me, did you mean you wanted to watch me touch myself or did you want to play a more active role?”  
  
“E-Either would be…” Sam breathed and forced himself to look Frodo in the eye and steadied his tone, “I was hoping I could touch you a bit tonight,” he said, “unless you would rather give me a show. Believe me, I’d not object to that either.” Frodo laughed and Sam felt a rush a relief.  
  
"I think it might be nice to feel your hands on me.”  
  
“Aye then,” Sam agreed and Frodo climbed into his lap, settling there, straddling his legs so that his unlaced britches hung between them, and looking down Sam could spy a triangle of light fabric that must be Frodo’s small clothes. He leaned close and Sam thought he was going to kiss him, but instead Frodo gently turned Sam’s head to the side, and breathed warmly in his ear, sending shivers through the gardener.  
  
“Go on then,” he whispered. Sam didn’t know what to do exactly, so his brain slipped into the literal and he grasped Frodo’s side, breathing hard. Frodo drew back, a sparkling of amusement in his eyes as Sam leaned up to kiss him. The kiss was warm and passion filled, but Sam didn’t let it distract him.  
  
For all that Frodo had said he would show Sam how he liked to be touched he hadn't actually told him anything and Sam was at a loss. His usual methods of foreplay were kisses and rubbing against his partner, or if it was a lass he gave her tits a squeeze and found her nipples. Well, that was an idea, he supposed, though he wasn’t sure if all lads liked having their nipples touched. Sam did, but he wasn’t going to assume a gentlehobbit would have any of the same tastes as himself.  
  
Still, he reached up and set a hand over Frodo’s chest, rubbing it slightly. Frodo’s shirt was thin and he wasn’t wearing a weskit, so it was fairly easy to find the telltale bump of a nipple. Sam paused and shifted his hand, letting his thumb strum insistently over the small point. Frodo gave a gasp and squirmed, murmuring softly.  
  
Encouraged, Sam drew his other hand to Frodo’s chest and sought his right nipple, giving it the same attention. Frodo broke the kiss and leaned back, his chest rising and falling quickly in excitement.  
  
“Yes,” he gasped, “like that.” Sam grunted softly and rolled one point between his thumb and forefinger. Frodo squirmed in his lap, his hips taking up a soft thrusting motion.  
  
“Now,” Sam said in a low lazy voice, “you just tell me how it is you like to be touched.” Frodo’s eyes flicked open and he smiled slightly.  
  
“It tends to depend on what sort of mood I’m in,” he breathed, “but usually I like to start slow.” Sam turned his face and kissed along the side of Frodo’s throat, making him sigh. “Oh,” he murmured and clung tightly to Sam. Sam shivered wanting badly to roll Frodo onto his back and lie over him but he held himself in check. Slow, he thought, tasting the warm slightly salty skin under Frodo’s ear, slow. Frodo pulled away and took several deep breaths, his hand running soothingly up and down Sam’s arms.  
  
“But then, slow doesn’t always suit,” he said in a surprisingly even voice, “I… haven’t done this in a long time and I’m… excitable. You’ll have to excuse me.”  
  
“I am too,” Sam mumbled through the haze of lust. Frodo met his eyes and bit his lip. Without speaking he took Sam’s hand and guided it slowly between their bodies, caressing his palm and fingers. Sam watched, spellbound as Frodo drew it down and set Sam’s palm gently over the warm lump nestled between his legs. He heard Frodo take a breath and raised his head, looking intently into his face. Frodo stilled and sensing his regard opened his eyes, holding Sam’s gaze. To Sam’s shock Frodo’s eyes were wide and nervous, and there was something deeply vulnerable on display in his expression. Sam had never seen such a look and it froze him for a moment. His innate need to comfort overcame his paralysis however, and in the next breath he was holding Frodo close with one arm wrapped around his back, murmuring soothingly.  
  
Frodo’s body relaxed and his nervousness slowly melted away as Sam watched him and kissed him, mindful to keep his other hand still though what it held was so tantalizingly hot and hard. Frodo’s arms came around him and as Sam watched Frodo leaned close and began to whisper instructions. He told Sam where he was sensitive and what motions he used to tease himself. He told Sam about the ridge on the underside of his cock and how rubbing it in hard fast even strokes could bring him to the edge of bliss or push him over that edge.  
  
Sam took all the information in awe, storing it away carefully in his mind, all the while his hand moved slowly encircling and rubbing along the cloth enclosed prick still nestled between them. Frodo’s hand lit on top of his and slowly began to guide his hand, showing him, Sam realized, the motions that Frodo used on himself. Sam’s own need throbbed below, but it was ignored. He was so enraptured with what he was being allowed to do that his own need paled.  
  
Finally Frodo’s hand fell away and he sat before Sam looking slightly dazed. Sam continued moved his hand, palm cupping the hot length between them and watched as a slight surprise entered Frodo’s expression. His lips parted, but he did not speak, only marked each new touch with a shallow breath or wordless murmur. Feeling dazed himself, Sam continued rubbing, firming his grip to deliver more bliss.  _He likes it,_ Sam thought in amazement, _he likes it so that he don’t want me to stop._ But even as Sam thought it he saw Frodo come back to himself and the dream was broken as he set his hand on top of Sam’s, stilling it.  
  
“Easy,” Frodo breathed, “You’re taking me too far.” Sam blinked at him.  
  
"Too far?" he asked, drawing his hand away.  
  
"Yes, I don't want to shock you," Frodo said, dropping his gaze. Sam frowned.  
  
"You're not going to shock me," he said gently. Frodo closed his eyes, his breathing evening out.  
  
"Are you telling me that I needn't be a gentlehobbit about this?"  
  
"Well," Sam frowned in consternation, "you needn't put on airs with me. You needn't try and act a certain way out of fear I'll think poorly of you, if that's what you mean." Frodo lifted his eyes.  
  
"So, you won't think poorly of me if I want to go on?"  
  
"Of course not," Sam said.   
  
"Ah," Frodo murmured. Sam leaned closer, trying to catch his gaze.  
  
"Do you want to go on?" he asked softly. Frodo met his eyes and nodded. Sam took another breath. “May I keep touching you?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said. He reached down and unlaced his small clothes, tugging the fabric open. Sam felt his breath stop and his mouth water at the sight that met him. Frodo had a slightly untamed dark cluster of curls running over his rounded pale belly to gather at the base of a sturdy thick shaft. That shaft was presently jutting straight out over their legs, swollen and flushed. Sam felt his own cock ache at the sight. Gingerly he reached forward and closed his fist around the length. He watched Frodo’s eyes go dark and slip shut as he tugged and worked the shaft in his hand, trying to match the motions Frodo had shown him.  
  
“That's it,” Frodo sighed, his voice low in a way that Sam had never heard before. This was nothing like the other boy, Sam reflected briefly. Then the goal had only been fulfillment and to impress the other boy with tricks and slyness, but now there was none of that. He wanted desperately for this to touch Frodo as deeply as it was touching him. Sam leaned forward and caught Frodo’s lips against his own, trying to push in until Frodo’s opened his mouth with a soft sound.  
  
They only passed a few minutes like this before Frodo’s breathing turned harsh and his finger dug into Sam side. With a huff and a strangle cry he came, pushing his face into Sam’s shoulder. Sam gave a soft cry of his own, surprised almost by the climax and its resulting gush of warmth over his hand. Frodo sagged against him, gulping in air and Sam felt a sudden deep and abiding satisfaction.  
  
“You lovely sweet dear hobbit,” Frodo gasped. Sam murmured in pleasure and slipped an arm around Frodo, hugging him closer. His other hand was still wet and dithering slightly, Sam wiped it on the grass beside them. He sighed happily, enjoying the warm contentedness from the one in his arms and leaned back, drawing Frodo with him to lay down. They were still for several long minutes. Sam closed his eyes, enjoying the peace of the night stretched out over them, as the rhythm of Frodo’s breath slowed and stilled. With a lovely contented murmured Frodo rolled off him to lie at his side. He draped an arm over Sam’s stomach and sighed.  
  
“It’s all glory and wonder this,” Sam murmured, gazing up at the stars, “To love you is like coming on spring all at once after ten seasons of winter.”  
Frodo turned his face up and gazed at him for a long moment.  
  
“Ah now Master Gamgee,” he murmured lazily, “You’re trying to use those pretty words to turn my head.”  
  
“Pleases me to hear you think my words pretty,” Sam sighed. Frodo chuckled softly.  
  
“Pretty words and bold proclamations.”  
  
“Too bold?” Sam asked, wrinkling his brow slightly.  
  
“No…But I feel a bit silly. I’m not spring time or star light or half as fair and wise as you make me out,” Frodo said softly. Sam hummed softly.  
  
“I have given my love to one who is worthy of love,” he murmured. Frodo was silent for a long moment and Sam slowly opened his eyes to see Frodo peering at him.  
  
“What are you quoting…?”  
  
“Just,” Sam said gruffly, “listen to what’s behind the words.” Again there was another silence.  
  
“I’m sorry Sam,” Frodo said quietly, “I shouldn’t be so contrary.” Sam eased and reached for Frodo’s hand.  
  
“Just say ‘thank you’,” Sam teased and Frodo laughed, catching sight of his expression.  
  
“Thank you,” he said quietly and kissed Sam’s cheek, “I wish I had words half so pretty as the ones you’ve given me.”  
  
“I like those sounds you made more than any words,” Sam admitted, smiling. Frodo chuckled bashfully.  
  
“Oh dear,” he sighed. They lay together quietly for a long moment until Frodo shifted slightly and turned back to look at Sam thoughtfully. “What you said, it wasn’t a quote at all, was it?” Sam watched him.  
  
“No,” he murmured glancing away embarrassed for some reason, “I can spin a bad copy of the fancy speech I read in books. Just like all that nonsense under your windowsill.”  
  
“It wasn't nonsense,” Frodo said softly, “I liked it.” He drew himself up slightly and his gaze turned a little hotter, “So, what would you like to do now?” He moved over Sam, putting his hands on either side of Sam’s shoulders.  
  
“Hm,” Sam murmured, feeling his interested bits throb at the suggestion, but even so he felt suddenly shy. There hadn’t been time for a bath before coming up the hill and though Frodo had just been crawling all over him, he still didn’t feel right letting Frodo touch him.  
  
“Ah dearie,” Sam murmured, “Kiss me, but I must go down the hill after that.” Frodo gazed at him fondly but questioningly.  
  
“Oh?” he murmured.  
  
“Forgive your Sam,” he murmured shyly, “But I’m looking forward to that bed of yours and the loving we can have there.”  
  
“You don’t want a bit of loving now?” Frodo murmured softly but Sam could hear a slight tease in the tone.  
  
“You’ve given me loving and more. I’m very content just now,” Sam smiled. Frodo smiled and rolled against him, embracing him and kissing along his shoulder.  
  
“Very well,” he said amiably, “But I shall remember this.” Sam smiled happily and kissed the curls closest to his face.  
  
“You shan’t be the only one,” he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is _The Vine _by Robert Herrick published around 1647/1648. It's online[ **here** ](https://archive.org/details/completepoemsro02grosgoog)__


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homophobic attack warning for this chapter. Slightly out of the realm of what you might expect from hobbits, but Lotho and his gang demonstrate in the books that they are capable of a lot of things that ordinary hobbits wouldn't be down for. You might take this as his and his gang's first step down that road.

Frodo stared up at the sky and watched the clouds float far above, bathed in warm late morning light. Behind him he could hear Bilbo fussing over the boxes that he and Jaro Twofoot were loading into the old carriage that Bilbo had rented for the day.  
  
“Frodo do you think we need more than two casks of ale?” Bilbo asked with a scowl in his voice. Frodo didn’t bother to turn around, the sight before him was too lovely.  
  
“Whatever you think Bilbo. You’re a better judge than I,” he said mildly. Bilbo grumbled under his breath for a moment  
  
“What about you Jaro-lad, do you have an opinion? Maybe you can be more useful than Frodo,” he said. Frodo snorted and turned slightly at the sputtered protests of poor Jaro. Off to the side Jaro’s sister Lily giggled. “Fine,” Bilbo snorted and helped Jaro heft the ale cask up into the back, “Two it is.”  
  
“Who is that?” Lily said with sudden interest, looking down the hill to the row path as a young hobbit lad bounded along.  
  
“Too young to be a post hobbit,” Frodo said frowning, “But he certainly is in a hurry.”  
  
“Haven’t seen him before,” Jaro said, stepping to the side of the hill to look down. Lily hummed interestedly as the young hobbit ran up the hill toward them.  
  
“Excuse me, my dear hobbits,” Bilbo said testily, “but we were loading this cart weren’t we?”  
  
“Beg your pardon Mr. Bilbo,” Jaro said and turned back and belatedly Frodo turned away too, helping Jaro to lift the last of the ale casks. The garden gate clanged and the sound of feet on the path announced their visitor before Frodo turned to see the stranger making his way shyly up the garden path toward them.  
  
“Begging your pardon,” the young hobbit called, “But is this where the Bagginses live?” Bilbo strode toward him.  
  
“Yes indeed. Bilbo Baggins at your service,” he said irritably. “I’m afraid we are in a bit of a hurry to be off lad, so if you could get to your business.” The boy quelled, but didn’t let Bilbo’s growling put him entirely off his mission.  
  
“Is there a Mr. Frodo Baggins here?” he asked timidly. Frodo turned and set the box he was lifting down again.  
  
“Yes. I’m Frodo Baggins,” he said. “I don’t believe I know you.” The boy squirmed, his cheeks pinking up.  
  
“No sir, I’m Han Smallburrow from out near Oatbarton. I come to Hobbiton for the festival. A hobbit by the name of Sam Gamgee asked me to carry a message to you, sir. He said you’d be on the Hill past Bag Shot Row and that you would know him.” Frodo smiled only a little at Han’s slightly dubious look.  
  
“Yes. And what was the message?” he asked.  
  
“Gamgee asked if you might go by the Cotton farm before you go the festival field. Said that he had something to give you.” Frodo kept the bubble of pleasure from showing on his face and only nodded pleasantly.  
  
“Oh, indeed. Well thank you for bringing the message,” Frodo said and dug a coin out of his pocket, handing it to the young lad. Han bowed again.  
  
“Thank you sir,” he said and bid them good bye and wished them well before disappearing down the hill path. Frodo turned back and was studying the still rather large pile of boxes that needed to be loaded when he heard Bilbo snort. He turned to see his uncle trying to hold in a full laugh while Jaro had his gaze locked on the ground his face bright red. Lily on the other hand was eyeing him with open curiosity.  
  
“What’s Sam going to give you Mr. Frodo?” she asked. Jaro shot his sister an alarmed look.  
  
“Don’t be bothering the master Lily!” he hissed sharply.  
  
“What?” Lily asked confused at the looks she was getting.  
  
“T’aint your business to be asking such,” Jaro told her severely and turned to Frodo looking very uncomfortable, “Beg your pardon Mr. Frodo.” Frodo shook his head.  
  
“It’s alright,” he said and shifted his gaze to Lily, “I don’t know what Sam has for me, Miss Lily. I shall just have to go and see as soon as we are done here.”  
  
“Oh go on ahead Frodo,” Bilbo said, “we’ll be at this a while longer.” Frodo turned back to look at him frowning a little.  
  
“I thought you needed my help,” he said.  
  
“Well you weren’t being much help,” Bilbo said dryly and when Frodo opened his mouth to protest Bilbo raised and hand continuing quickly, “Jaro and I can manage this lot fine and still be off by eleven thirty at the latest. I’ll see you at the festival grounds.” And he turned back to the boxes. Frodo stuck his hands in his pocket and chuckled.  
  
“Well alright then,” he said. “If you’re dismissing me.” And he hurried off, waving good bye to Jaro and Lily as he ducked back inside Bag End to retrieve his walking pack. He wasn’t inclined to argue with his uncle, especially when Bilbo was already in a mood with all the festival preparations to see to. With the pack strapped on he was soon making his way down the hill humming as he went, feeling extremely pleased. Sam was going to give him his corsage in private it seemed, otherwise why ask him to make the detour? And Frodo had Sam’s corsage safe in his pack, wrapped in soft cotton cloth. He was mildly proud of how it had turned out and was eager to pin it on Sam’s shirt.

♦

  
As he approached the Cotton farm he wondered if perhaps the Cottons would be about and the occasion would not be quite as private as he had hoped but as he entered the smial garden there were no sounds from within. Frodo grinned and glanced around, eagerly.  
  
“Sam!” he called. Apparently Sam had hung back from the main group, probably to finish a load by himself. He had told Frodo that he and the Cottons would spend the morning making trips back and forth from the Cottons to the festival field, but refused to go into more detail. Probably afraid to give away what he and his father had been working on, Frodo chuckled softly to himself and went around to the barn.  
  
“Sam!” he called again and went inside, expecting to see Sam loading the Cotton’s wagon, but the barn was empty. Frodo frowned a little and began to wonder just what part of the Cotton farm Sam had intended for him to go to when he felt a strong pair of arms seize his shoulders.  
  
With a gasp Frodo jerked away, for he knew immediately that Sam would never grab him like that but the arms persisted, locking around him so that Frodo couldn’t turn to see his assailant. He let out an angry curse and was readying a wrenching kick when he saw a brief movement from the corner of his eye and then suddenly a thick substance was flung in his face, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs with acrid fumes. Fighting for air and blinded, Frodo coughed and jerked in panic as his attacker forced him down on the straw strewn floor.  
  
“Bloody hell get him tied!” a hobbit shouted in a high angry voice. Frodo vaguely recognized it but he was more concerned with clearing his lungs. He was gasping and sputtering when another bucket full of the substance was poured over his head. He clamped his mouth closed but groaned in anger. He felt weight on his back as a hobbit sat on him and his hands were wrenched up behind him and held together as someone tied his wrists.  
  
He had finally identified the substance dripping over his face as warm pine tar. The smell was overwhelming him and he felt dizzy and helpless, but above all Frodo was furious.  
  
“You won’t get out of that,” the hobbit on top of him said and tugged on the thick twine knots at Frodo’s wrists. That was Ted Sandyman’s voice. _You bloody excuse for a mill-rat,_ Frodo thought venomously and began to rub his face in the dirt, trying to get the pine tar off him, or at least away from his nose and mouth. His eyes had opened once during the struggle and had they stung so badly that tears were spilling down his cheeks as he blinked in panic, trying to wash the tar from his eyes. He gave up and clamped them shut, the burning lessening only a little.  
  
“Get off me!” Frodo snarled.  
  
“Oh look it! He’s blubbering he is,” came Olo Braceguirdle’s voice. “Hullo Frodo. You remember me don’t you?” Olo was a second cousin to Lotho on his mother’s side and one of Lotho’s chief hangers-on.  
  
“I remember you, you toe-licking bastard,” Frodo growled, “If you would like to pretend you are a gentlehobbit you can untie me and we can have a fair fight. But I warn you lad, I’ll box you so hard you’ll shit out your piss-hole.”  
  
“Oh he swears like a country lout too,” Olo huffed and leaned down, continuing in a low growl, his voice menacingly closer, “I’ll not be taking that from a mandrake like you.”  
  
“What did you call me?” Frodo shouted and twisted as Ted stood up and pulled Frodo up by his collar and turned him over. Frodo rolled to the side, drawing his knees up instinctually.  
  
“I said I’ll not take cheek from a lad-fucker,” Olo said and Frodo could hear him walking around, pacing. Despite his fury he shivered. He knew he ought to be terrified and that he was in a very bad situation, but he was still so angry it was hard to feel frightened. “The family should have dealt with you long ago,” Olo continued, “and the Brandybucks should have been the first to put a stop to it. But they’re all lack-witted buffoons anyway. I’m not surprised they let you go about buggering their servant lads.” Frodo closed his mouth and ground his teeth.  
  
“Now you’ve gone and got yourself a rent-boy and paraded him about in front of decent folk? That’s what you were planning to do, weren’t you?”  
  
“Oh aye, he were. Lookit at this!” Ted put in and Frodo heard rustling and turned his head slightly, and dared to open his eyes. Ted had his bag and was holding up Sam’s corsage. The rage boiled up suddenly and Frodo felt himself shaking and pulled at his bonds with a strength he normally could not have had. Olo laughed loudly, snorting.  
  
“This is too much. You were going to give your lad a flower?” he asked, “No, no, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You were going to give that to a likely lass, weren’t you cousin?”  
  
“Begging your pardon,” Ted said after a moment of silence in which Frodo stared hotly at both of them, silent, “but he weren’t. Look at him, he weren’t. He's gone and made Samwise Gamgee a regular uphill gardener if you catch my meaning.” Frodo shook harder and this time couldn’t tell if it was from rage or panic.   
  
“I’m not having this!” Olo shouted, suddenly angry, “The Bagginses and the Brandybucks might put up with a nasty lad like you, but I’m not having you associating with my family. Go get the tar, Ted-lad.” Frodo watched as Ted bolted out the back entrance of the barn, disappearing. Olo paced, watching him closely and smiled when he caught Frodo looking at him. “You won’t forget this cousin. Nor will the village.” Ted returned carrying a large bucket, holding it away from his body and gripping the handle with a towel. He put it down and Frodo could see curls of steam rising from the bucket.  
_Heaven help me,_ Frodo thought, _he’s been heating it. If they pour that on me it’s going to burn me._  
  
“Bring it over here,” Olo told him. Ted hesitated, glancing down.  
  
“Lemme get something smaller,” he said and went to the shelf taking down two smaller buckets. Olo paid him no mind and was instead watching the steam rise from the hot tar. Ted returned and began pouring tar into the small bucket, then sat down and poured the tar from one bucket to the other bucket and back again. Frodo watched him and felt a creeping hope. Ted was cooling the tar.  
  
“What are you doing there?” Olo asked sharply. Ted looked up guiltily.  
  
“It has to be mixed, sir,” he said.  
  
“Mixed?”  
  
“’S not as sticky otherwise. The oils separate an-”  
  
“Fine fine,” Olo grumbled, disinterested. A long moment passed and finally Olo strode forward, taking one of the small buckets. “Alright, that’s enough.” Ted nodded and rose and they moved toward him. Olo paused then pulled out a handkerchief and bent down. Frodo tensed and readied himself for a fight but Ted was there, holding him still as Olo pried his jaw open and stuffed several handkerchiefs in his mouth and ended by tying one around his mouth to keep him from spitting them out. The two rose again and Olo took his bucket in hand.  
  
“I suppose we should strip him,” Olo said nastily. Ted guffawed.  
  
“I reckon we ought not, sir. He might like that,” the miller’s son laughed but Frodo was watching Ted and could see that under all the scorn and bravado the boy was not happy about this. And the suggestion to keep Frodo dressed might help protect him from the tar. Olo leaned close, breathing hard as he hefted the bucket and spoke in Frodo’s ear.  
  
“We’ll make you as twisted and wrong on the outside as you are on the inside,” he said, “Maybe then you’ll do the decent thing and go off.” Olo turned his bucket over Frodo’s head, letting the hot pitch drip over his hair and shoulders and face. It wasn’t scalding, thanks to Ted, but it hurt plenty. The cooler layer of tar on his face kept the hotter tar from reaching his skin. Another bucket full dripped down his back and this was worse. Frodo groaned in pain and doubled over, feeling the white hot burning liquid scald him and stick where it had run down under his collar.  
  
“Get me the big bucket,” Olo said, sounding pleased, “Thank you, lad, now go turn him over again.” Frodo twisted away, but he was burned and bound and there was no resisting the force that rolled him onto his back, his hands trapped under him. The tar in the big bucket was the hottest, Ted hadn’t cooled it, it would burn and burn and-  
  
There was a loud crack and Frodo felt a splash of hot tar hit his feet and drew them back instinctually. He wanted to look, but his whole face was coated in tar and he couldn’t open his eyes. There were shouts and more cracks and then a hand grasped his shoulder, but it was gentle and another hand was propping him up, supporting him.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” the voice was not Sam’s but it was kind and familiar. Frodo groaned in relief and then a cloth was being wiped across his face, mopping the tar away. As soon as his eyes were cleared Frodo opened them and found that it was Tom Cotton holding him up. He untied the gag and pulled the wad of cloth away.  
  
“Where’s Sam?” Frodo croaked.  
  
“At the festival grounds still setting up. Don’t be worrying about him now, sir,” Tom said soothingly. Frodo glanced around and found that the barn was empty with no sign of Olo and Ted.  
  
“Jolly’s chasing them off our land,” Tom said with bitter satisfaction in his voice. “Had him a nice thick oak stick. They took a few blows before they got themselves gone. Bloody cowards.” Tom took out his knife and sat Frodo up so he could get to his wrists. He sawed at the twined carefully until it unraveled and Frodo pulled his sore wrists apart. Tom put his knife away and watched as Frodo rubbed them to work the blood back into his hands.  
  
“Ah sir,” he murmured.  
  
“I’m in a bad way, aren’t I?” Frodo asked, laughing a little, “I can’t thank you enough, Tom.” Tom shook his head.  
  
“Bless you sir, I’m just glad me and Jolly come back here to pick up a few things. We weren’t planning on it, but lor’ I’m glad.” He paused and peered closer at Frodo. “Are you hurt?” he asked.  
  
“Not badly. But help me get this shirt off, the tar on the back is hot and I think my back is a little raw.” Tom took in a hissing breath.  
  
“Bloody hell,” he muttered and helped Frodo unbutton and pull off the cotton shirt. It stuck to him and Tom had to stand behind and carefully peel it away from his skin.  
  
“How bad?” Frodo asked nervously.  
  
“Red all over, but I don’t think you’re burned but up near your neck where the tar got to your skin.” Tom came around to the front again, wringing his hands uncharacteristically, “Ought I to try and scrape it off? It’s dried on you, sir.”  
  
“Not right now,” Frodo breathed, “It isn’t hurting me.” Tom nodded and swiftly unbuttoned his over shirt, passing it to Frodo.  
  
“If you like, sir,” he said.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said, taking the shirt and put it on. “I feel a good bit better just having that shirt off. It took most of the tar.” Tom smiled slightly and took his arm, leading Frodo toward a bench.  
  
“Come sit over here sir, you’ll be a bit more comfortable. Now how did they get you out here?” Frodo dropped down onto the wood bench by the barn door next to Tom and slumped back, exhausted.  
  
“Sent a lad up to Bag End. Said there was a message for me from Sam asking me to come out to your farm before I went to the festival,” he sighed, “It seemed likely enough. I knew he was making trips back and forth with you lads.”  
  
“Aye. Early this morning,” Tom nodded, “but we got done with that by second breakfast. Those lads must have watched us and been listening to our talk.”  
  
“How silly of me,” Frodo said quietly, “I should have known better. I knew Lotho was…” he took a deep breath and went quiet. He saw Tom glance at him, worriedly.  
  
“There now,” he said, “We’ll pay em back some, sir. We’ll not let them get away with this.” There was a clatter from outside the barn and Jolly’s face appeared in the door, peering in at them.  
  
“Monsters!” he said angrily, “Are you alright Mr. Frodo?” he asked hotly, still breathing hard and clutching a thick oak pole.  
  
“Much better than I was,” Frodo said. “Thank you, Jolly. You have my gratitude. Both of you.” Jolly pulled out a water skin and passed it to him, which Frodo took gratefully and uncapped before drinking long swallows. Tom stood and went to the still steaming bucket and scowled.  
  
“I’d never have believed a hobbit could be as nasty and cruel as that,” he said angrily. “They could have hurt you very badly, Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“Well they didn’t,” Frodo said unhappily and passed Jolly his waterskin. He didn’t like the reminder. Tom went about collecting Frodo’s scattered belongings and put them back into his bag. He paused when he found the corsage, but only for a moment, then gently picked it up and wrapped it again in its linen wrapping. The flowers were limp and had been trampled in the fight, but Tom collected all the broken bits and put them safely away, buttoning the top of Frodo’s bag once more. Jolly had begun walking around collecting the tar buckets and moving them out of the way, muttering about the mess.  
  
“What would you like to do Mr. Frodo?” Tom asked.  
  
“I want to go back to Bag End,” Frodo said tiredly. “I’m all over sticky muck and I want to get salve on my burns.”  
  
“Should we get a healer?” Jolly asked.  
  
“No, no need for that,” Frodo said, standing unsteadily. Tom strode over and handed Frodo his bag.  
  
“We need a shirriff more than a healer,” Tom growled. “I think Hob Burrowes is at the festival.”  
  
“Could one of you go up to the festival grounds and find Bilbo?” Frodo asked.  
  
“I’ll go,” Jolly volunteered.  
  
“I’ll walk you back to Bag End, sir,” Tom said and cast a glance at Jolly, who was turning to set out. “Get Sam too,” Tom called.  
  
“Aye,” Jolly called back.  
  
“And see if you can’t get dad and Gaffer Gamgee,” Tom added. Frodo wanted to protest, but didn’t. While he didn’t relish being clucked over, those were all good hobbits who had his best interests at heart.  
  
With a sigh Frodo followed Tom out of the barn, and they began to make their way to the main road, leaving the Cotton farm behind.

♦

  
Tom walked at his side in silence for a few minutes. Frodo was finding that he was growing more and more shaken over what had happened. He pushed it to the back of his mind determinedly and focused on the walk. It wasn’t hard to do because he felt sticky and uncomfortable; the tar left on him had dried unpleasantly and moving in the hot sun was making it rub and chafe. His face especially felt hard and he longed for a bath.  
  
“Sir?” Tom asked suddenly, his voice strained. Frodo turned to look at him and saw that Tom was staring hard at the ground, “I don’t mean to be… causing you offense, but sir, you won’t blame Sam for this, will you?” Frodo stared at him in surprise, and noted that Tom looked pained.  
  
“No,” Frodo said quietly, “Of course not. I don’t blame anyone except Lotho and those friends of his.”  
  
“Oh,” Tom breathed. Silence stretched uncomfortably between them for a moment until Tom said haltingly, “I’d not said anything sir, but Sam’s that dear to me.” He trailed off into silence and Frodo paused, not knowing what to say.   
  
“I’m glad he has such a good friend,” he said slowly. Tom sent him a brief glance and visibly relaxed.  
  
“If you don’t mind me saying, you’ve made him that happy, sir,” he said quietly, “and I told Sam I’d do all I could to help the both of you.” Frodo nodded stiffly, though he was touched by Tom’s words.  
  
“Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me,” he said. Tom stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded briskly.  
  
By the time they made it to Bag End their talk had turned to lighter things, the festival and the weather, and Frodo entered Bag End feeling bolstered by their talk. It was noon now and though he felt hungry Frodo wanted a bath more than he wanted food. He invited Tom in and set the kettle boiling for tea and found some scones for Tom to munch on before going off to the bathroom to bathe.  
  
He slid the door shut and striped his clothes off, as the water heated, and began examining himself in the round cheval floor mirror, wincing at the reflection that stared back at him. His hair was matted and clumped into thick tar globs and his skin was red and blotchy where he could see it. His face was a dark smear of caked dry tar, clear only around his eyes and nose and mouth. He set about looking for something that would dissolve it and settled on bath oil and soap. With a sigh he began to try and clean himself, determined to look as close to normal as he could by the time Bilbo and Sam and the others arrived.

About a half an hour later Frodo emerged from the steaming bathroom, wrapped in a thick towel and listened carefully. The smial was still quiet thankfully and he slid down the hall into his own bedroom and dressed quickly. He had managed to get most of the tar off, though he kept finding sticky patches. His face and hair were much better and almost looked normal, though his hair had an unpleasant squeaky texture when he ran his fingers through it. It would probably settle into limp dry frizz, rather than the soft curls he was used to. He frowned and was about to slip a weskit on when there was a knock at his door.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Can I come in?” came Bilbo’s voice.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said and went to the door, opening it. He found himself clasped roughly in an embrace and Bilbo murmuring about rascals, clearly upset. Frodo pulled away and clutched Bilbo’s hands, feeling embarrassed.  
  
“There now, don’t be unhappy,” Frodo scolded, “I’m perfectly fine.”  
  
“Thanks to the Cottons,” Bilbo said, “Oh Frodo, my dear boy.” This time Frodo let himself be hugged and put his arms around his uncle. He closed his eyes and set his cheek against Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo sighed and stepped back, giving Frodo an assessing look. “When Jolly told me you had been burned…”  
  
“Not badly,” Frodo said quietly. “Just here along my shoulders and back.”  
  
“Let’s go to the kitchen where we can see better,” Bilbo said and with a hand still around Frodo’s arm steered him down the hall.  
  
“Is Sam here?” Frodo asked quietly.  
  
“He had gone to the upper fields with his father and the younger Cotton brothers. Jolly was going up there to get him. They should be along soon. Mr. Cotton is here though.” Frodo nodded. He was a bit glad that Sam hadn’t arrive yet, for he was still damp and smelled like pine.  
  
They found Tom and Tolman Cotton in the kitchen, standing with tea in hand. They greeted him and Tom gave him an encouraging smile.  
  
“Well Mr. Frodo,” Tolman said, “It do ease my mind to see you looking well. This whole business being so nasty.”  
  
“Thank you sir,” Frodo said, “It’s all due to your sons that I came out as well as I did. I can’t thank them enough.” Bilbo was pulling up a chair next to Frodo and was gently pulling his collar down to examine the burns. He heard Bilbo hum in concern.  
  
“Tom-lad, look in that cabinet over the stove, yes that one, and look for a capped glass bottle.” Tom retrieved the bottle and brought it to Bilbo. Bilbo uncapped it and the smell of aloe and lanolin filled the kitchen. Frodo unbuttoned a few of the top buttons of his shirt and shrugged it down as Bilbo carefully applied the salve.  
  
“I had words with the Twofoots, the Browntrees and the Brockhouses on the way here,” Tolman said quietly, “they’re getting together a group and they’re going to hunt those lads down.”  
  
“Vigilante justice in the West Farthing?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“Nay, they’ll just bring them to the shirrifs,” Tolman said, “They might not be terribly gentle, but no one is going to pay them back in kind. We’ll be showing them more civility than they deserve.” He shook his head, “Can’t believe Ted Sandyman was involved in this. One of our own.”  
  
“Ted did me a few favors,” Frodo said quietly, “He cooled the tar for one. It would have burned me worse if not for him.”  
  
“Well that may be, sir,” Tom said, “but you’ll forgive me if that don’t impress me much. He had no business doing any of it in the first place.”  
  
“I’ll not argue that,” Frodo conceded and went quiet. The salve felt cool and soothing and he closed his eyes, resting his chin in his hands. There was a knock at the front door and the four hobbits turned to it. Bilbo frowned and rose, going quickly into the hall. Frodo heard soft excited voices floating down the hall and Bilbo appeared again, followed by little Nick and Nibs Cotton.  
  
“What are you lads doing here?” Tolman asked frowning.  
  
“Jolly got arrested da!” Nick cried, “the shirriffs got his hands tied up and everything.  
  
“What?” Tolman cried.  
  
“Do you know why Jolly was arrested?” Bilbo asked them. Nibs grinned.  
  
“Cause he hauled off an hit Lotho Sackville-Baggins in the face,” the boy said grinning. Bilbo snorted.  
  
“You seem to have started a trend Frodo,” he muttered. “Alright everyone, I suppose we had best go make an appearance and spring poor Jolly,” Bilbo said sighing. “Any sign of the Gamgees?” he asked the boys.  
  
“We left them up in the back fields with the cart. We went looking for Jolly and Tom cause they hadn’t come back with lunch and then when we got down to the festival grounds we got a bite to eat and was about to go take our lot back up to the Gamgees when we saw Jolly get arrested. He said Tom and da had gone to Bag End, so we come here.”  
  
“Now Mr. Bilbo, I’ll go take care of this,” Tolman said going to the door, “There’s no need to bring everyone over there.”  
  
“Oh nonsense,” Bilbo grumbled, “We’ll get Jolly out far quicker if I’m there to vouch for him. My carriage is out front and if some of the lads ride on the back there will be plenty of room. We’ll be there in no time.” He turned to Frodo who was still seated at the table.  
  
“I don’t see any reason for you to go Frodo, unless you want to,” he added. Frodo was beginning to feel like himself again, and his anger was returning.  
  
“There’s no need for me to hide away up here,” he said rising and buttoning his shirt, “In fact I think I ought to make an appearance and show the village that those lads haven’t beaten me.” Bilbo looked slightly exasperated.  
  
“Really my lad, no need to be so dramatic. I doubt anyone knows anything about the business besides us,” he shrugged, “But whatever you like. Come along everyone let’s go.” The assembled crowd of Cottons followed Bilbo and Frodo out the front door and down into the lane. Frodo and Tom helped the smaller Cotton’s climb up in the back and they were soon off, headed towards Bywater and the festival grounds.  
  
The flower festival was held in the fields around the Three Farthing Stone, south of the East Road. As they traveled along and came through Bywater and continued south they began to see many more carts on the road. Families had come for miles around and many were only now arriving, as the main events of the festival tended to get started in the afternoon. Tolman, who was driving, edged the pony up the road and steered for a place in the shade of a large oak tree.  
  
The Cottons jumped from the cart as it slowed and the children ran ahead. Frodo hopped down and glanced around. The field was full of hobbits, setting up tents, carrying fiddles and flutes, baskets of flowers and fruits. It was a lovely day for the festival and he wished that he could have enjoyed it all as he usually did. Instead he began to scan the crowd for Jolly or Sam. Behind him Bilbo stepped down and went to Frodo’s side, pausing there with him as Tolman went to tie the pony up.  
  
“Let’s go have a run in with the law, shall we?” Bilbo muttered. Frodo chuckled dryly and followed Bilbo as he descending into the field.  
  
They found Jolly soon enough, for Nick and Nibs came back and led them to the beleaguered Cotton brother. He was seated by a tent, his hands still tied behind him and he was scowling. When he caught sight of their group Jolly’s scowl melted and he sat up straighter, looking anxious. Bilbo strode up to Hob, the West Farthing sheriff who stood by the tent and had been in conversation with one of the Peabody matrons. When he saw Bilbo bearing down on him he turned and raised his hands in a placating gesture.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo!” he cried, “Here now, don’t be looking at me like that!”  
  
“Why is he tied up?” Bilbo demanded, “Good heavens, what is this, Bree?”  
  
“He hit a gentlehobbit in the face,” Hob said frowning, “I can’t just let that sort of thing go on.” Bilbo snorted in irritation and waved at Frodo.  
  
“Frodo, be a good lad and untie him.”  
  
“Mr. Frodo beg your pardon, but you can’t be doing that!” Hob said, stepping in, “Young Mr. Cotton is arrested. You can’t just go freeing him.”  
  
“And I beg your pardon Mr. Hob, but I’m untying Jolly. You can arrest me too if you like,” Frodo invited cheerfully. Hob threw his hands up and stepped back.  
  
“This isn’t proper,” he grumbled in temper.  
  
“Did Jolly happen to tell you why he hauled off and pasted Lotho?” Bilbo asked him. Hob looked uncomfortable.  
  
“Yes sir, I did hear some nasty tale about Mr. Lotho’s cousin Olo and young Ted, but how could I be knowing if it was so?”  
  
“I can vouch that everything Jolly told you is true,” Frodo said testily and looked up at the shirrif, “I believe I am in a position to know.” Hob frowned.  
  
“And I sent my deputy to go look for Olo and Ted, but that don’t give young Jolly the right to go hitting folk.”  
  
“Maybe not, but I promise you, Jolly won’t be causing any more trouble,” Bilbo said and cast a stern look at the boy, “Isn’t that right, Jolly?” he asked sharply. Jolly’s cheeks went red.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said. Tolman approached his son and took him by the shoulder, frowning slightly, but the frown wasn’t enough to hide the old hobbit’s relief.  
  
“Lad what did you want punching a gentlehobbit?” he grumbled but Jolly looked past his father to the Bagginses.  
  
“Sirs, I went up to the back fields and found our wagon, but no Gamgees.” Frodo went still and stared.  
  
“What?” he asked. Jolly looked pained.  
  
“I tried to tell these louts, but they didn’t think it was anything wrong,” he said.  
  
“There are any number of reasons someone might have left a wagon for a moment,” Hob said sternly, “That was no reason for you to lose your head and go baying for Lotho Sackville-Baggins.” Frodo felt slightly dizzy suddenly and made sure when he spoke that his voice was steady.  
  
“So you went to the back fields, found no sign of Sam or his father?” he asked. Jolly shook his head.  
  
“No sir, and I looked around a bit, but not long, cause I knew something was wrong. They’d not leave their plants like that; they were only half done placing them around the dancing fields.” He took a breath, “So I went looking for Lotho Sackville-Baggins.”  
  
“They might have gone to get something to eat,” Bilbo said in a hard voice, “After all, no one ever brought them anything for lunch, as they were expecting. I wouldn’t blame them for taking a break and going down to the festival.” Frodo took a deep breath. _Yes, of course. That makes sense,_ he told himself. Jolly bit his lip, looking shamed. “You perhaps overreacted, lad,” Bilbo told him. There was a brief silence and Tom cleared his throat.  
  
“Has anyone looked for the Gamgees?” he asked.  
  
“No sir,” Hob said, “I’ve only the one deputy, and I didn’t think it was needful.”  
  
“Well why don’t we see if we can’t find them,” Bilbo said clasping Jolly’s shoulder, “And put this young lad’s mind at ease.”  
  
“Nick, Nibs,” Tolman said, “Run along the grounds now and see if you can’t find the Gamgees. The rest of us will go to the back fields. I suspect we’ll find Sam and Hamfast back there finishing their lunch, but if you lads see them still at the fair send them back to us, yes?” the boys nodded and dashed off.  
  
“Very sensible,” Bilbo said amiably and turned to Hob. “I apologize Hob, I know we’re making your life difficult this afternoon, but I wonder if you might follow us back to the dancing fields. Just to tie up this loose end, as it were.” Hob frowned, looking reluctant, but nodded.  
  
“Alright Mr. Bilbo,” he said and they followed Tolman’s lead as the led them back along the hedge row to the back fields.  
  
Frodo caught sight of the wagon quickly as they entered the dancing field but could not see movement around the cart. _Perhaps they’re sitting behind it,_ he thought but could not suppress the worry that had been building in him since Jolly had said he could not find the Gamgees.  
  
They neared the cart and walked behind it, the whole group glancing around in the bright afternoon sunshine.  
  
There was no one at the cart.  
  
The group halted beside it and eyes began to go to Bilbo. The old master took a few breaths, looking around uncertainly.  
  
“Oh dear,” he said at last.  
  
“Then they must be down among the festival crowds,” Hob said slowly. Frodo did a quick calculation and realized that the youngest Cottons must have left the Gamgees some time ago. He turned to Jolly and asked quietly,  
  
“Do you know how long it’s been since you first came up here and found the cart left?” Jolly blinked and thought a moment.  
  
“Aye. Were right on noon when I come up here last. I know cause they were ringing the luncheon bell.”  
  
“All the more reason to think they had gone for lunch,” Bilbo said. Frodo glanced at the sky.  
  
“By the sun I’d say it’s at least one thirty now,” he said quietly, “and they may have been gone sometime before you got up here Jolly.”  
  
“It’s a festival day,” Hob went on, unsteadily, “could have taken a long luncheon.” There was a silence. Tolman turned to the shirrif and frowned.  
  
“Maybe you don’t know the Gamgees, but they’d not be going in for festival fun when they had so much work still. Why, the dancing starts at four and they’ll need to have this field decorated. I only see about half the work done.” Frodo glanced around and saw there were potted plants scatted around the edges of the field, marking the boundaries of the dancing and nearby were tables and a circle where the musicians would be playing. But it was as Tolman said, only about half the plants were placed. The other half were still stacked neatly in the wagon.  
  
“Sam and Mr. Gamgee were here at eleven, when me and Jolly left for the farm,” Tom said slowly. Jolly nodded.  
  
“And I met Nibs and Nick at about, oh, must have been quarter till and they had only been down in the fields maybe twenty minutes afore I met them,” Jolly said softly. “The Gamgees would have been here till at least eleven thirty by that. But by the time noon came and I got up here they were gone…” he took a breath and stared around the field.  
  
“Gone,” Frodo breathed.  
  
Sam was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

There was a soft sound of feet running on the grass and Nick Cotton dashed around the side of the cart, breathing hard.  
  
“I found him!” he cried, “he’s down in the medical tent.”  
  
“Who?” Tom demanded.  
  
“Mr. Gamgee,” Nick gasped, “they say he came down to the festival all dizzy from the heat and they put him in the tent and were trying to give him water when he fainted. They’ve been terrible worried and sent someone out to Number Three but nobody-”  
  
“Where is Sam?” Frodo asked loudly. Nick flinched, caught off guard.  
  
“I-I dunno, nobody had seen him. That’s why they sent a hobbit out to the row,” he stuttered. “But of course nobody was down there.”  
  
“Come along,” Bilbo said briskly and began leading the way back to the festival grounds. “What about the Gamgee girls? Surely someone found them.”  
  
“Yes sir, they’re at the tent with their da,” Nick said.  
  
“Someone should have come to Bag End,” Bilbo growled. They went quickly back to the festival grounds and pushed through the crowds to the large white shelter marked out as the medical tent. Usually they only had to deal with hobbits that went too deep in their cups or the odd sprained ankle. Worriedly Frodo sprinted ahead and ducked into the tent, Tom and Jolly close at his side. At the far corner he spotted Daisy, May and Marigold, seated around a low cot, where Hamfast lay, very still with a cloth over his forehead. The girls looked up in surprise to see Frodo rushing toward them and rose uncertainly.  
  
“Sirs,” May said in greeting as Bilbo entered the tent and began talking to the healers behind Frodo. Tom knelt by the cot, looking at Hamfast with deep worry in his eyes. Frodo knelt as well, taking a place by Tom.  
  
“Oh dear,” he said and looked up at the Gamgee girls who were taking their seats again.  
  
“The healers say he’s just sick from heat,” Marigold offered, “that he should come round soon. He’s been awake a few times and taken some water.”  
  
“Did he say anything?” Tom asked her. Marigold looked pained.  
  
“He called for Sam,” she said tightly. Daisy took a deep breath and fixed Frodo in a hard gaze.  
  
“Where is Sam?” she asked him. Frodo met her eyes.  
  
“I don’t know,” he said.  
  
“You mean Mr. Gamgee didn’t know where Sam is?” Tom asked. May sniffed and brought a handkerchief to her eyes.  
  
“Da was a little confused when he woke,” she said. Frodo watched the sisters feeling deeply pained. He wished he could offer some comfort, or better yet produce Sam for them. Sam could take May in his arms and tell her it would be alright and she would believe him. They needed Sam.  
  
Frodo stood suddenly and went to the tent entrance, pausing to look out across the fields and crowd. He heard Bilbo break off in his conversation and felt the old hobbit come up behind him.  
  
“Frodo?” he asked uncertainly. Frodo gritted his teeth.  
  
“Where is Lotho?” he growled.  
  
“Oh no!” Hob said, appearing at his side, “We’re not starting that again!”  
  
“He’s at the back of all this,” Frodo said, “and I’m not having it. I’m not going to let that coward hurt anyone else.”  
  
“Mr. Lotho told me he didn’t know nothing about the attack on you,” Hob said patiently, “Ain’t it possible Olo acted on his own? Begging your pardon sir, but there is more than one of your relations that have a feud with you. I think we ought be going after the ones who done you harm.” He paused looking at Frodo with a hard look, “Besides, we don’t know why young Samwise isn’t in the field. I know you’re thinking some plot is at the back of it, but it’s far more likely that there is an innocent explanation.” Frodo turned on the shirriff, livid with fury.  
  
“Samwise Gamgee would be at his father’s bedside if he had any choice in the matter,” he said angrily.  
  
“That’s so, Mr. Frodo,” Tolman Cotton said, appearing beside Bilbo, “But maybe Sam got heat sick too. Isn’t that the likeliest thing?”  
  
“Sam’s strong,” Bilbo said in a low voice, “and he knows how dangerous heat sickness is, he wouldn’t have pushed himself if he felt the signs. And even if it had overcome him, someone would have found him by now.” Frodo was tired of listening to theories and with an effort set off in a determined walk. He heard Hob cry his name and hurry after him, but Frodo paid the sherrif no mind. He was out for blood.  
  
He hadn’t gone far when he was joined by two hobbits, bounding along close at his sides. He glanced over and saw both Jolly and Tom, following him.  
  
“Where to, Mr. F?” Jolly asked with determination in his voice.  
  
“Ale tent,” Frodo said shortly and cast a worried glance at them, “The two of you shouldn’t come.”  
  
“Don’t be silly now, sir,” Tom said.  
  
“Jolly, you at least shouldn’t get into any more trouble. You did promise,” Frodo said. Jolly shrugged.  
  
“I’ll just hope Mr. Bilbo can be forgiving me,” he said. Frodo nodded and strode to the ale tent, catching sight of Mr. Warren standing behind the counter. He entered the tent and glanced around, expecting to see Lotho sitting in the back with a crowd around him, but the tent was oddly empty, mostly populated with old gaffers. Frodo frowned uncertainly and went to the counter, greeting Mr. Warren.  
  
“What can I get you, sir?” Bill Warren asked.  
  
“I’m afraid I’m not here for a drink,” Frodo said in a low voice, “I’m looking for my cousin Lotho.” Bill raised his eyebrows.  
  
“Haven’t seen him in a while sir,” he said, “not since that one turned over a table getting to him,” he gestured to Jolly. “Hob turn you lose Jolly?” he asked sternly.  
  
“Yes sir,” Jolly said.  
  
“Mr. Frodo’s just wanting to give Mr. Lotho a proper apology,” Tom said. Bill narrowed his eyes skeptically and cast a doubtful look at Frodo.  
  
“Uhuh,” he said, reaching for a glass to clean.  
  
“So if you might know where he went?” Tom hinted. Behind them came Nib’s high voice.  
  
“Hi Tom, can I have an ale?” he asked. Tom turned and frowned at the boy and Jolly pushed his little brother away.  
  
“Get on Nibs, this is big lad business,” he scolded him.  
  
“I don’t know where Mr. Lotho went, sir, and that’s the honest truth,” Bill said to Frodo, “I wish you wouldn’t go seeking him. It won’t end well.”  
  
“But I want an ale!” Nibs persisted. “Or a cider.”  
  
“Nibs go away,” Tom said angrily turning on the boy, “I’ll get you a cider later if you’re good and leave us be.”  
  
“But we need something sticky,” Nibs protested, “and honey is too dear so we thought ale. We didn’t know where to be looking for pine pitch.” Frodo frowned and turned to the boy, fixing him with a hard look.  
  
“What was that lad?” he asked. Nibs went still and shy to be looked at so sternly by a gentlehobbit.  
  
“Begging your pardon sir,” he said. Jolly took Nib’s shoulder and held it hard, turning the boy.  
  
“Here now, what are you up to?” he demanded. “You answer Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“Well, Ruby and Jaro and Till and me, we were all doing what Mr. Bilbo said, see, we were looking for the Gamgees. And Nick found Mr. Gamgee but I didn’t find Sam so I got my friends to help me look,” he rambled.  
  
“Did you find him?” Frodo asked impatiently.  
  
“No sir,” Nibs said, “But we found Ted Sandyman.”  
  
“What?” Tom yelped and grabbed Nibs by the collar. “When? And why didn’t you come get us?” Nibs looked taken aback.  
  
“You said to tell if we found Sam. Not Ted,” he said.  
  
“Where is he?” Frodo demanded, “take me to him now, lad.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Nibs said anxiously and began leading them away from the ale tent.  
  
“What did you do when you found him?” Jolly asked darkly, “He ain’t hanging around on his own, is he?” Nibs grinned.  
  
“Nay. We tied him to a stump in the woods,” he said proudly. “And I told Jaro and Till what Jolly told me- that Ted had played some trick on Mr. Frodo and dumped a bucket of pine pitch on him, so we started thinking we’d dump some on him. But we didn’t have none, so we thought ale would do.” He laughed, “Jaro said it would make the bees crawl all over him. And Ruby thought that was gross and left to look for her sisters.”  
  
“I don’t want to be hearing that you dumped ale on anybody,” Tom said sternly, “You’re not to go about copying some ass like Ted Sandyman, is that understood?”  
  
“It was Jaro’s idea!” Nibs protested. He led them past the festival field and down into the wooded valley north of the food tents. They came out of the woods briefly to cross the East Road before plunging back into thick woods. Frodo vaguely recollected that there was a creek at the bottom of this slight valley and sure enough he caught slight of bubbling water. Nibs hopped across the creek rocks and scrambled up the other bank, waiting for the older boys to follow him, his face sullen. Frodo would have to remember to reward the boy, but that would have to wait until he had settled with Ted and found Sam. The creek was shallow so he stepped into it when there was no likely rock and waded until he was on the sandy far bank and followed Nibs and Jolly up into the ascending woods with Tom trailing behind.  
  
They soon came upon a fallen tree and two hobbit lads sitting on it, eating apples. A third hobbit was tied to the broken trunk, staring at the ground. Frodo picked up his pace. Ted was bruised and dirty looking, a result Frodo supposed of his run in with Jolly and then with these lads. He couldn’t find much sympathy in his heart, however. Jaro and Till straightened at his appearance and raised a hand in greeting.  
  
“Hullo Mr. Frodo,” Jaro said nervously as he caught sight of Frodo’s expression. Ted tensed where he sat, but did not look up. Frodo nodded curtly to them and dropped down to stare at Ted.  
  
“Where is Sam?” he asked. The muscle in Ted’s jaw clenched and he resolutely looked at the ground. Frodo waited, not breaking his stare.  
  
“There’s plenty of sticks about,” Tom said coming to stand behind Frodo and glower down at Ted. “Remember Jolly’s stick, Ted?” he asked nastily.  
  
“No,” Frodo said coolly, “Ted’s going to tell me.” Ted raised his eyes at last and stared at him belligerently. The miller’s son looked as if he wanted to spit in Frodo’s face, but didn’t quite dare.  
  
“I got nothing to say to you,” he muttered under his breath.  
  
“You’re going to tell me where Sam is, or I’m going to let these lads knock your teeth out,” Frodo said softly. They waited a long moment, the tension building as the silence continued. Tom shifted his weight restlessly behind Frodo.  
  
“You haven’t Mr. Lotho or any of the other lads about you now, Ted,” Tom said, “You don’t have to act like a stuck up prig. You’re a Hobbiton lad. You ought to know better than to run with asses like that.”  
  
“They’re the only ones thinking right around here,” Ted growled, “the rest of you is so taken with the Bagginses that you let them get away with thieving and running the village into the ground, and buggering whatever pitiful lad takes his fancy.” Frodo heard gasps behind him, but he found that he didn’t care.  
  
“Ted,” he said slowly, “I’m only going to ask you once more. Where is Sam?” Ted took several short angry breaths then laughed.  
  
“Old Sam? I’d be thinking maybe he went to take up with some old Took. A Took could tell him better fairy stories and could give him a better lay than a waif like you. Oh, that’s right lads, he’s made our Sam into his buggerboy.” He had hardly finished before Tom sprang at him, grabbing Ted by his hair.  
  
“You bloody filth-” he growled. Frodo drew back, standing, watching them. He could feel the fear of the other boys behind him and could see Tom’s fury, but none of it touched him. Ted squealed in pain.  
  
“Ah aye then! Alright! After all, why not?” he breathed, his voice high and shaking, “aye, I’ll tell you where he is.” Tom paused and loosed his grip on Ted’s hair, but did not move away. Ted took another gasping breath and said, “Olo and me was supposed to go to the old mill, downstream of Bywater Pool. He said the lads from Sackville had took Sam there to put some fear in him.” He growled, “But Olo left me behind when I hurt me leg and then this lot come on me.” Frodo turned away and stepped close to Jolly.  
  
“Go get Bilbo and Hob and your father,” he said. “Tell them where we’ve gone and give this one to the shirriffs,” he turned back to Tom, would was still holding Ted up by his hair. “Let go of him Tom. No one else touch him,” he said. “Jaro, Till, Nibs, you lads stay here with him until the shirriff gets here. Tom turned and scowled a bit.  
  
“That just leaves you and me to go to the mill, sir,” Tom said uneasily.  
  
“I can go sir,” Jaro said, standing and going to Frodo’s side.  
  
“And me,” Till protested. Frodo paused. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Ted only guarded by a nine year old and neither did he trust Nibs to take the message to Bilbo and the shirriff. He gave an appraising look at Till and Jaro. They were young, maybe only about thirteen, and he didn’t want them involved in a fight, but they were trustworthy.  
  
“Alright. Jaro, you go get Bilbo and the others. Till, guard Ted with Nibs. Tom, Jolly, you both come with me. Does that suit?” he asked impatiently.  
  
“Yes sir,” came their answers and the boys scrambled off to their appointments. Frodo paused and looked back toward Ted.  
  
“Ted,” he said and paused until Ted looked at him, “Thank you for mixing the tar.” Ted stared at him for a long moment then his lip curled back.  
  
“Fuck you,” he snarled. Frodo raised his eyebrows and turned away. He waved Jolly and Tom to follow him and began moving off to the north through the woods. He knew the old mill, had hiked there several times with Bilbo and it wasn’t far. He shivered as he walked, knowing that Sam had been in their clutches for hours now. His own attack, as unpleasant and terrifying as it had been had only lasted fifteen minutes.  
  
“We know where he is,” Tom mumbled quietly, “T’will be alright now.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo agreed, more to ease Tom than himself. With determination they pushed through the woods in heavy silence.  


♦

  
Peaking over the trees and bushes Frodo could see the jagged stone structure of the old mill. He remembered coming across it on a hike with Bilbo many years ago and the two of them sitting in the shade for an hour to rest and eat. Bilbo had told him how the mill had been built in his father’s time and how it used to grind wheat and corn to make flour and meal before the Sandyman mill had been built in town.  
  
But now Frodo looked at the stone ruins with a sense of dread. He and the Cottons slowed and crept along, low to the ground, keeping absolutely quiet. The area surrounding the mill was an overgrown field and behind it Frodo could see the bubbling stream of the Water, rushing to the east. He felt nervous looking across that field, for though they could hide in the bracken and tall grass, they would be spotted easily if someone were to be looking out. The Cottons had paused and were looking at him expectantly. Frodo glanced at them and crouched lower, dropping to his knees.  
  
“Stay low and follow me,” he said softly. He could hear voices floating in the air, some raised in laughter. There was no doubt they had found someone at the old mill. They crept along silently until Frodo reached a low wall of stone. He raised up, and peered over the top and froze.  
  
There were five hobbits clustered in what had been the primary grain hold but was now an open space walled on two sides. Immediately Frodo recognized Olo and beside him Lotho. Nearby were three more rustic hobbits who Frodo did not recognize. He did not see Sam.  
  
Tom had crawled along and drawn up beside Frodo.  
  
“Shit,” he breathed. Jolly had gone farther down the wall before looking over the top, but he too was now watching the assembled crowd with wide eyes.  
  
“Don’t seem too concerned, do they?” Frodo said in a soft tight whisper. Tom bit his lip and shook his head. Jolly hissed to them softly and waved them over. Frodo and Tom dropped back to their knees and crawled over to Jolly’s position. Jolly leaned down and spoke in a harsh whisper,  
  
“I think I see Sam. Look behind that old gaffer in the shade of the barrel he’s leaning against.” Frodo drew up, his heart hammering in alarm and he peered at the barrel where Jolly indicated. Sure enough there was a lump huddled on the ground. From this angle Frodo couldn’t see much besides a pair of bound arms and where he thought a head must be there was a cloth sack draped and tied down. Shaking Frodo eased down and stared out at the field, his mind racing.  
  
_Five of them, three of us…_  
  
He could feel the Cotton’s eyes on him. He had no doubt that if he rushed out and started a brawl Tom and Jolly would be right there beside him. Perhaps they could prevail, despite being outnumbered. They had surprise, for one, and that old hobbit, the one leaning on the barrel, didn’t look as if he could put up much of a fight. Frodo didn’t know if Olo and Lotho would fight. Gentlhobbits could brawl, but sometimes they were not very good at it, and tended to avoid it. Frodo guessed this might be the case with Olo, who had been run off by one angry fifteen year old with a stick that very morning. But Lotho… well, he had never gotten into a brawl with Lotho, aside from that single blow he had dealt his cousin at tea. It seemed a terrible chance to take, and if they failed they would be no help to Sam. He took a breath and stilled the shaking of his hands. Thinking about Sam was making it hard to focus. He glanced down and as he did, Frodo noticed the ground under them was covered in smooth river rocks and pebbles. He reached down and picked one up, feeling the slight weight in his hand. He hear Tom hum softly and reach down for a rock of his own.  
  
“How good a shot are you lads?” Frodo asked them.  
  
“Fair as the next hobbit,” Tom murmured.  
  
“Alright, fan out and collect as many rocks as you can. On my signal start pelting them. We’ll move in when they hide,” Frodo paused, “It may be best if we yell to lads that aren’t here, make them think there’s more of us. I think the longer they’re confused the better chance we’ll have.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Tom said nodding. “If we can, we need to get those lads tied up. They were kind enough to bring a coil of rope it seems. Look yonder.” He pointed and Frodo could see a large coil of light colored rope on the ground near the gentlehobbits.  
  
“Seems they were,” Frodo nodded. “Alright, are you both ready?” The two Cottons nodded and began making their way along the wall, taking up their positions. Frodo remained in the center, watching the hobbits talk.  
  
_How dare they do this,_ he thought. _How have I hurt them by loving Sam?_   
  
But terrorizing him and Sam for their love was only an excuse, he realized. Lotho was angry and embarrassed because Frodo had hit him, had bested him, and the whole Hobbiton-Bywater axis knew it. The fact that he could exploit Frodo’s relationship gave him a way to get back at his cousin, and that was what he was doing. He knew exactly how to get at Frodo.  
  
“Oy!” Frodo shouted and let a stone loose. It smacked into Olo’s back and the gentlehobbit shouted in fear, toppling over. Tom let out a whoop and one of the young hobbits fell over, clutching his stomach.  
  
“Get im Gerald!” Jolly yelled and let loose a volley of stones that made the remaining hobbits scramble in alarm. Frodo bobbed around, chucking stones when he saw an exposed limb. Three hobbits were laying on the ground now, either too hurt or too shocked to move. Tom bolted forward, encouraged and threw himself on the three, shouting and kicking, grabbing the rope as he went. Frodo gasped and leapt up, running toward him. Tom would need help he knew and-  
  
Pain seized him, and Frodo fell to the ground in shock, not knowing what had hit him. Had Jolly hit him accidentally with a stone? But no, a shadow fell across him and Frodo looked up to see Lotho staring now at him, a thick wooden paddle in his hand.  
  
“Ah,” Frodo breathed and tried to roll away but Lotho reached down and seized him.  
  
“Olo didn’t get done with you, it seems,” Lotho growled and reared back to strike again but Jolly was suddenly there behind him, wrenching the paddle from Lotho’s grip.  
  
“Mordor take you!” Jolly shouted and smacked Lotho with the paddle across his back. Lotho groaned and turned, in fury and landed a solid blow to Jolly’s stomach. The young Cotton gasped and stepped back, his eyes watering.  
  
“Upstart whelp,” Lotho spat but Frodo was up again and kicked Lotho’s legs, knocking his cousin down while his back was turned. Jolly grinned and fell forward, pinning Lotho to the ground. Frodo turned and found that Tom had managed to bind Olo and two of the younger hobbits to one of the columns still standing in the mill, but that the old gaffer was up again, his fists raised now in a boxing pose. Tom stared at him, his own fists up.  
  
“Alright there Tom?” he asked in a choked voice. Tom grinned.  
  
“Peachy Mr. F,” he said. Frodo scrambled around the barrel and dropped to his knees. First things first.  
  
“Sam,” he cried and touched the shoulder of the one bound, “Sam, it’s me.” The form before him twitched and he heard a soft sound. There was a cry behind him and Frodo turned to see Jolly struggling to hold Lotho down.  
  
“For heaven’s sake,” Frodo said angrily, “I’ll be right back.” He sprang up and took the length of rope Tom had been using to tie the other hobbits and ran to Jolly’s side.  
  
“Sit down Lotho,” he snarled, “It’s bloody over and you’re just making a nuisance of yourself.”  
  
“Touch me again Frodo Baggins I’ll knock the fallohide out of you,” Lotho shouted.  
  
“Shut up,” Jolly said angrily and took the rope from Frodo, pushing Lotho onto his stomach and wrenching his arms up. “Can we gag him too Mr. Frodo?”  
  
“No,” Frodo said distastefully, watching Jolly pull the knots tight. He turned and went quickly back to Sam’s side and began working the knots loose at his neck. He needed that cloth sack off. He needed to see Sam’s face.  
  
“Sam, I’m back,” Frodo spoke in a low soothing voice, “can you answer me?”  
  
“Mhm,” he heard a soft moan.  
  
“That’s okay,” Frodo said. The knots were damned complicated but he didn’t want to go pulling at it, not knowing if he would hurt Sam by tightening the rope. He kept talking to Sam in the same low reassuring voice, “Everything’s alright now. I’ve got Jolly and Tom with me and I’ve got a shirriff on the way, as well as Bilbo and Mr. Cotton and goodness knows who else.” At last the rope slid off and Frodo pulled the bag up, exposing Sam’s face. Sam stared at him, wide eyed, his face red and sweaty, a gag tied in his mouth. Frodo winced and reached for it.  
  
“Oh,” he murmured, tugging it down and out of Sam’s mouth.  
  
“My-” Sam wheezed, his voice dry and cracked.  
  
“I’ll get you some water,” Frodo said and made to rise.  
  
“No, Frodo, my dad,” Sam gasped. “He-”  
  
“He’s alright,” Frodo said quickly and grasped Sam’s shoulders. “Someone found him and took him to the medical tent at the festival. The girls are with him.” Sam breathed out a relieved breath and fell back, slumping against the barrel again.  
  
“Sam!” Tom cried and came around from behind to kneel at Sam’s side. “Ah, lad, they done a number you, didn’t they? Let me cut you lose.” Sam opened his eyes and laughed soundlessly. Frodo stood and took one of the mugs off the barrel top, going quickly out to the water’s edge. He knelt and filled it then went into the mill once more. His hands had gone back to shaking.  
  
When he returned to Sam’s side Tom had cut Sam’s hands lose and had an arm around his shoulder, telling him about how they had found him. Frodo passed him the mug of river water and Sam took it, gulping it down.  
  
“Oh,” he sighed as he finished and put the mug down.  
  
“Are you alright?” Frodo asked him. Sam opened his eyes and peered at Frodo.  
  
“I’m fine. I’m more angry than anything else. And I was fierce thirsty.” He hesitated a moment, anxiety coming into his eyes, “They said… They said they got you,” he murmured. “I was… I couldn’t…”  
  
“Olo and Ted ambushed me,” Frodo said, “but I got out alright, thanks to Tom and Jolly. They’ve done everything really. From rescuing me, to helping to find you, and I certainly couldn’t have fought this lot off myself.” Sam glanced quickly at Tom.  
  
“Oh Tom. Thank you,” he breathed. Tom drew back looking embarrassed.  
  
“Nay now, it’were nothing and I was glad to do everything I done, same for Jolly,” he paused and stared at the tight flag stones beneath them, “T’is that good to see you alright, Sam.”  
  
“Aw Tom,” Sam said grinning fondly at his friend. Tom rose and took Sam’s mug.  
  
“I’ll get you some more,” he said and went off, stepping beyond the mill wall. Sam turned back to Frodo and gazed at him. Frodo gazed back and found that he didn’t know what to say. Sam turned his head, and twisted back to look to his left. Frodo followed his gaze and realized that they had an audience. The three hobbit, now four including the old gaffer, were still bound to the mill column and they were staring at Frodo and Sam. Sam growled and rose shakily, going to stand by the hobbits. He glared down at them for a long moment. None of the hobbits said anything, so it was with considerable shock that Frodo watched as Sam leaned close and spit in the old gaffer’s face. He straightened and turned away, going quickly beyond the mill walls to the Water’s edge where Tom was standing, watching Sam with wide eyes. Frodo followed him, unsteadily. As he passed he noticed Jolly was still sitting on Lotho’s back.  
  
“Why are you sitting on him?” Frodo asked. Jolly looked up with a defiant look in his face.  
  
“Cause I like him better with less air in his lungs,” he said, and added, “sir.”  
  
“Oh for heaven’s sakes Jolly, let him breathe,” Frodo scolded. “If he wants to shout insults till he goes blue in the face then let him. I don’t care one wit.” Jolly looked reluctant, but rose as Frodo bid him and followed the gentlehobbit to the Water’s edge where Sam and Tom were standing. Behind them Lotho was silent.  
Sam was drinking again, closing his eyes against the brightness, enjoying the cool water.  
  
“What happened after Jolly and me left?” Tom asked him. “I guess it weren’t heat sick that made the Gaffer unwell.” Sam looked up frowning.  
  
“Heat sick? No,” he sighed. “It were like this. After you and Jolly had been gone, oh maybe half an hour, the little lads said they were hungry. Well it weren’t time for lunch and you weren’t back yet, so dad told the little ones to go down to the festival and eat. Not ten minutes after they left that old chap come walking along and into our field. He talked with da a while about the decorations and asked our names. Da told him and by that time two other lads had come up with the old hobbit. Sommat felt a little off but I didn’t know what till one of the lads jumped forward and hit da in the back of his head. The other two jumped on me and the old chap tied up my hands.” Sam took a breath. “The old one, he told me that their quarrel was with me and if I come with them easy like they wouldn’t hurt da no more. So I did and they took me here.” He paused a moment and sipped water before continuing, “At first it was just them three. Then this gentlehobbit comes up I never seen before, but I thought he must have some relation to Mr. Lotho, the way he acted and talked. Like them Bracegirdles out Sackville way.”  
  
“Hoy!” a cry interrupted Sam’s story and the four hobbits turned to see three wagons approaching as well as a carriage, bumping along on the only barely serviceable old mill road. On the side of the carriage was Bilbo, holding onto the rail, waving his cap and grinned when he saw Frodo and Sam. He let out a whoop and slid down when the carriage slowed. Tolman shouted at him but Bilbo paid the old hobbit no attention as he hurried over to the Water’s edge.  
  
“Well well!” he said briskly, “The cavalry is here, but I see we are not in time to be of use.” He strode forward and clasped Sam’s hand in a strong grip.  
  
“Sam my lad, I am so very glad to see you looking well. Are you alright?” he asked. Sam blushed.  
  
“Thank you Mr. Bilbo. I’m fine,” he said. Frodo turned and watched as their friends and neighbors climbed down from the wagons, as well as Hob and two more shirriffs. Hob hurried over to Lotho and the others, hauling them up. Bilbo watched this, frowning.  
  
“Please tell me you are arresting him," he called.  
  
“Questioning Mr. Bilbo,” Hob said sternly, “We call it questioning.” Bilbo snorted but seemed to be placated by the fact the shirriff was not untying Lotho, but rather roughly loading him into a cart. Frodo sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. Bilbo turned back and studied him a moment.  
  
“Well lads, I bet you’d like to get away from this dreary place, eh? Tom, Jolly, I think you might find some of your cousins in the second wagon. They seemed very eager to see the pair of you. Frodo, Sam, why don’t you get into my carriage? We’ll head back toward Overhill. Oh, I had Hamfast moved to Number One. He was well enough to get into a cart, so we’ll go see him first, shall we?”  
  
“Oh thank you sir!” Sam cried as Bilbo pushed him along.  
  
“Nonsense lad, go on,” Bilbo shooed them away. Numbly, Frodo climbed up into the carriage, slumping onto the closest bench. Behind him Sam climbed up and shut the little doors to the coach. Frodo breathed out, soothed slightly by the darkness of the carriage, but overwhelmed and tired.  
  
“Frodo,” Sam sniffed and in the next moment Frodo found Sam had curled into his side, wrapping his arms around his waist and had buried his face against Frodo’s shirt.  
  
“There, there,” Frodo said and felt a little silly saying it. He put his arms around Sam’s shoulders and held him tightly. Sam took a deep breath and blurted, “I feel so low and such a coward. I didn’t want to leave da, but I didn’t know what else to do. And I weren’t there when you needed me-oh,” He paused gulping, “Do you still love me?” he asked.  
  
“What a question,” Frodo answered almost irritably, “Of course I do.” He leaned close and softened his words by kissing the curls at Sam’s forehead. “Don’t be silly now.”  
  
“Well,” Sam protested weakly, “It’s just… I didn’t know if this would change… change things atwix us.” Frodo swallowed and let his cheek rest against the top of Sam’s head. Sam was young, he reminded himself.  
  
“You did the only thing you could have done,” Frodo said soothingly, “And I don’t look down on you for that. I don’t think your father will either. If you had fought them it would have been him that paid the price. And you can’t always look out for me, nor I you,” Frodo bowed his head, exhausted but went on, “As for changing things between us, I can’t see that being so, not really. We may understand our circumstances a bit better and perhaps it will keep me from ever taking you for granted, if I ever was going to.” He sighed, “My dearest Sam, there is probably a lot that we can say on this, but not right now, I beg you. I just… Oh can I just hold on to you like this?”  
  
“Mmhm,” Sam murmured, his voice tired and pleased. They sat together, bound in each other’s arms. Sam was so solid and strong, but he was shaking. _Maybe there were a few words that needed to be said after all,_ Frodo thought.  
  
“I love you, and nothing that anyone does is going to change that,” Frodo said softly. “This is my fault, you know. I provoked Lotho. This was all to get back at me and I am so very sorry that you and your father got caught up in all of it. Can you forgive me?”  
  
“’s not your fault,” Sam sighed and held tighter. Frodo clutched him and they stilled, letting the silence surround them, comforted by one another. They sat quietly for several minutes, perfectly content until Sam loosed his grip and drew back. He reached into his breast pocket and drew out a slightly squashed sprig with two tiny rose blooms, one white, one red, their stems entwined, all the thorns consciously clipped off. Nestled into the base were several small blue star shaped flowers with a sweet smelling cedar sprig peeking out behind them for contrast. Frodo’s breath caught and unexpectedly he felt his eyes go hot and tears rolling down his cheeks.  


♦

  
Bilbo stood surveying the hobbits around him imperiously. Beside him, Tolman Cotton stood, watching the shirriffs march Lotho’s four co-conspirators to the shirriff wagon. _Was that Am Bracegirdle’s boy?_ Bilbo thought it was, and felt justified in his dislike of the Sackville Bracegirdles.  
  
He harrumphed and strode over to Hob who was arguing with one of the bound hobbits.  
  
“Aye, well I don’t be caring about the whys,” Hob said angrily, “There is no call for kidnapping and beatin’. Uncivilized for a hobbit, if you ask me! Why, if half of what I heard is true then you lads sound more like Big People than hobbits, and I’m ashamed for you.”  
  
“Beating!” Olo shouted, “Oh I’ll tell you who was doing the beating! It was the Cotton boys and that Baggins lad. I can show you the welts. There was some uncivility today, but I assure you, the majority of it comes from that side.”  
  
“Olo Bracegirdle! You and I have some things to settle, and settle them I will next time I go to visit your father. We are all going to have a very long talk. In the meantime I will be writing him about this incident,” Bilbo growled. Olo froze, his mouth hanging open in shock. His father, Rollo Bracegirdle was an acquaintance and though Bilbo didn’t care for his wife or other family, Rollo was a good sort. Bilbo leaned closer, allowing his fury to show. "Don't you ever come near my boy again," he said through a tight clenched jaw. There was an unspoken threat hovering in the silence around them, and even someone as thick as Olo understood it. The color fled from his cheeks. Bilbo withdrew, his fury masked once more. “When I write to your father, shall I put in a note about your bail?” he asked and watched with great amusement as Olo's eyes widened.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo, really, that’s enough,” Hob grumbled.  
  
“Don’t worry Olo,” Lotho said from his crouched position near the wheel. “You won’t be troubled with that.”  
  
“Oh hullo Lotho,” Bilbo said coolly, “Do you really think Otho is going to be pleased with you and your lads in jail? That’s quite a sum he’ll have to pony up. Oh, except I suppose it will just be you and Olo. Wouldn’t waste it on the lads at your beck and call, they can sit in jail I suppose.”  
  
“S’not a jail. It’s Mr. Hob’s root cellar,” one of the hobbits in the cart said.  
  
“Ach, and you’d know, eh?” another laughed. Lotho stared sullenly at Bilbo.  
  
“It isn’t polite to talk on money in front of commoners, Uncle Bilbo,” he said stiffly.  
  
“It isn’t polite for you to harass your cousin and his friends,” Bilbo said in a low voice.  
  
“I’m trying to keep the dignity of our family intact,” Lotho said hotly, “Not anything you would know about, but it’s my name too, and I’ll bloody defend it from the likes of you and that… that…”  
  
“You’re a small minded bully,” Bilbo told him roughly.  
  
“And that boy of yours is a cock-sucker,” Lotho spat. Bilbo stepped forward suddenly and slapped Lotho hard across the jaw. His hand stung but he paid it no mind, glaring at the hobbit before him. Lotho stared back, blankly.  
  
“Your mother and I have our disagreements,” Bilbo said softly, “But I’ve always admired her spirit. You, on the other hand have nothing but spite and cruelty in you. Hobbits aren’t meant for such things, and you’ll bring your own ruin when your plots turn back on you. I pity you, lad.” Lotho’s mouth opened, but he was speechless. Bilbo turned and began to make his way toward Tolman.  
  
“Frodo Baggins has laid with a lad,” Lotho said loudly. Bilbo stopped. He turned back to Lotho to find the young hobbit eyeing the shirriff. Hob blinked at him.  
  
“What Mr. Lotho?”  
  
“He's laid with a lad and that's against the law. Many of the folk around here know it.” There was silence. Lotho's face darkened and he added, “his Brandybuck uncle has said as much to me and my father. You won't have any problem proving it.” Hob frowned deeply and he shifted his eyes to Bilbo.  
  
“Is this so, Mr. Bilbo?” the shirriff asked. Bilbo felt his stomach sour. He was silent for a moment then he met the shirriff's eyes.  
  
“Yes. But know Hob, that if you arrest Frodo you will also have to arrest me,” Bilbo said in a low voice.  
  
“I can't see why that might be, Mr. Bilbo,” Hob said.  
  
“Oh. I too have been with a male,” Bilbo said. Hob groaned.  
  
“Now Mr. Bilbo, we both know that isn't so.”  
  
“I don't think you'll be able to prove otherwise,” Bilbo said carefully. Hob looked irritated.  
  
“I've laid with a lad!” Tom Cotton's voice rang out.  
  
Bilbo turned and saw that Tolman was trying to stifle his son's outburst. Jolly watched with wide eyes.  
  
“I've laid with a lad,” the boy said loudly.  
  
“And I as well,” said Rollo Boffin.  
  
“I laid with a lad,” Bill Proudfoot shouted, “Aye, did it last Friday as a matter of fact.”  
  
“You was skittling with me last Friday,” Hado Twofoot said, doing a bad job of keeping his voice low.  
  
“It was after.”  
  
“Oh. That's alright then.”  
  
There were a few more cries before Hob held up his hand.  
  
“That's enough! All of you,” he shouted, “no one is getting arrested to-day because of laying with another lad.”  
  
“They're lying!” Lotho hissed, “Obviously, they're all lying.” Hob turned his ire on Lotho.  
  
“Mr. Lotho,” the shirriff began.  
  
“No, I'll not stand for this. It's against the law! You have no choice but to arrest Frodo!”  
  
“I have no choice have I?” Hob said in a hard voice, “Mr. Lotho, that law hasn't been enforced in three generations. The Rules give me the power to apply law in the most fair way. If you want to make a complaint to Judge Took then you are free to do that.”  
  
“Judge Took is a Baggins-friend!” Lotho cried. Hob sighed and turned away.  
  
“Go on, get them going,” the shirriff directed his deputies. The shirriff drew closer to Bilbo.  
  
“Thank you, Hob,” Bilbo said quietly. Hob raised his eyebrows.  
  
“I'd have had the same interpretation for anyone. I didn't spare Mr. Frodo cause of his name.”  
  
“All the same,” Bilbo said. He paused and added, “though, if you never intended to enforce the law, why did you ask about Frodo?” Hob looked slightly sheepish.  
  
“A hobbit do like his gossip,” he said.  
  
“Hob,” Bilbo growled.  
  
“So who is Mr. Frodo with?” Hob asked. Bilbo gave him a cool side long look.  
  
“You'll just have to wait for the Lithe fair and see if there is a hand fasting,” Bilbo said. The shirriff laughed and Bilbo bid him goodbye. He walked back across the field, approaching Tolman, who had been watching him.  
  
“Would you like me to drive you back sir?” Tolman asked. Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“I can manage the carriage,” he said, “Go be with your lads. I think perhaps a celebration is in order, though we may wait a few days for that. In the meantime tell old Warren to give you and the lads a round on me.”  
  
“That’s kind of you, Mr. Bilbo,” Tolman said nodding, “Much appreciated.”  
  
“Good day,” Bilbo said nodding as the old farmer nodded back and the two shook hands. Bilbo turned away and went back to his carriage. He generally didn’t drive anymore- Frodo had some odd notion that he wasn’t very good at it- but Bilbo thought the boys might like a little time alone. He went to the doors, intending to tell them that they’d soon be off but paused when through the dusty glass he could vaguely see that the two were pressed close together and that they were kissing in the dimness of the enclosed carriage. Bilbo chuckled softly, and turned away, climbing up into the driver’s seat above the box. He took the reins and prodded the pony into a walk.  


♦

  
Sam lay in a daze, held securely in Frodo’s arms as the carriage bumped and jerked. Frodo hissed in alarm at one point and clutched him tightly.  
  
“Oh Bilbo,” Frodo groaned in dismay, “Why didn’t you let Tolman drive?”  
  
“It’s just a rough road,” Sam told him and pulled Frodo’s arms back around his chest, clasping them with his hands. “He can’t help some of it.”  
  
“Centenarians shouldn’t be driving,” Frodo muttered under his breath and Sam smiled. He had wondered if he would hear Frodo good-naturedly grumbling like this anytime soon. He sighed and ran his thumb over the back of Frodo’s hand, trying to sooth himself as much as sooth Frodo.  
  
He had been so angry and shamed that lads like that had overcome him, and not only that, but had hurt his father. He still could hardly bare to think of the crack he had heard when that hobbit sprang at his dad and hit him hard, using the club in his hand to strike the blow. He had gone with them, numb in horror at the sight of his father laying crumpled in the dirt, breathing heavily, too weak to rise again. And those boys, they had been so angry, screaming at him, telling him that he had to come with them or they would hurt his dad more. Sam had felt like the worst coward, no better than a worm, leaving his father like that.  
  
And then at the mill, it had got worse. They had gagged him and started talking about Frodo.  
  
“In a way I almost feel sorry for this one,” the old gaffer, Gaffer Hogfoot said, motioning to Sam. “He was led astray by his master, you see.”  
  
“It’s him we ought be after then, don’t you think?” one of the young hobbits said, his name had been Lindo.  
  
“It ain’t proper for us to be roughing up a gentlehobbit,” the gaffer said, “But that’s why Mr. Lotho got his cousin Mr. Olo to do the job.” Sam had felt his insides freeze as the others laughed. “Mr. Olo is going to catch Frodo Baggins on his own and tar him.”  
  
“Tar him?”  
  
“Aye. With hot tar, mind. And then maybe feather him, so the village will know just what sort of hobbit he is.”  
  
“Won’t that burn him?”  
  
“So what if it does? Everyone thought oh, Mr. Baggins the younger, he’s a right dandy, and all this time him having his eye set not on the pretty lasses who lined up at his front door, but on the ditch digger around back. Aye, that tar will burn him, and scar him up too I shouldn’t wonder. Give the lad something to remember, next time he thinks about disgracing the Baggins name. Serves the bloody filth right.”  
  
“Uh oh. I don’t think Gamgee likes that.”  
  
“Let him glare. It’s Mr. Lotho’s right to defend his good name. And that boy there, don’t feel too sorry for him. Yes his master led his astray, but he knew better. Every working hobbit knows that there’s only trouble will come of laying hands on a gentlehobbit.”  
  
“And him a lad.”  
  
“Oh yes,” the gaffer nodded and spat, casting a glare on Sam, “a gardener ought to know better than to go planting his seed where it won’t bear any fruit.” This got a loud round of laughter. Sam shriveled a little, remembering how low it had made him feel, and wondered if Frodo’s assailants had said the same sorts of things to him. He didn’t like that idea.  
  
The carriage slowed and sitting up Sam realized they were on the row. He drew away from Frodo and slid over to the doorway, seeing Bilbo climb down from the driver’s seat ahead of them. He swallowed hard. He was somehow afraid to go see his father, afraid to see the Gaffer hurt and afraid that he might not recover. He felt Frodo’s hands lay flat on the back of his shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. He let out a slow breath, then turned and gave Frodo a smile, before slipping out of the carriage and heading for the door of Number One.  


♦

  
Frodo eased out of the carriage and stood watching Sam go to the door. Bilbo too was following the youngest Gamgee son but turned when he reached the door, spying Frodo lingering by the carriage side. The old hobbit raised his hand and beckoned Frodo, silently. Reluctantly Frodo followed, finding himself at Bilbo’s side. Bilbo put a steadying hand on Frodo’s back and steered him inside.  
  
The Gaffer was propped up on a straw pallet with several cushions behind his back and looked as if he had been drinking tea. The tea cup had been abandoned at Sam’s arrival and now the old hobbit reached for his son and Sam knelt by the pallet side and embraced his father. Frodo watched this, feeling a tightness in his chest. He was relieved to see Hamfast awake, and glad that Sam was back with his family, but it all felt as if he and Bilbo were intruding on an intimate family gathering. No, Bilbo would always be welcome in the Gamgee home, it was more that Frodo doubted his own welcome. He started slightly to find that Daisy was staring at him from the kitchen, as if he were a stranger and Frodo had to force himself not to shrink back and leave. Bilbo was walking forward suddenly, pushing Frodo alongside him as he too went to Ham’s bedside and leaning down shook the old gardener’s hand.  
  
“Dear Ham, come through it all right I see?” Bilbo said, delighted. Hamfast grinned up at him.  
  
“You’re not the only old hobbit around here with a tough noggin,” the Gaffer chuckled and Bilbo snorted.  
  
“They’ll be calling us the old hard-heads up at Overhill,” Bilbo said and the two old hobbits laughed. The Gaffer’s eyes moved from Bilbo to Frodo and Frodo froze where he stood. He knew he ought to be saying something; congratulating him or offering apologies but Frodo found he couldn’t move. Hamfast’s expression softened slightly and he reached out, taking Frodo’s hand as he had Bilbo’s, clasping it.  
  
“Thank you for bringing my Sam back to me, sir,” he said. Frodo opened his mouth but no sound came out for a moment.  
  
“Of course,” he finally managed and shook the Gaffer’s hand stiffly. He felt Sam’s presence at his side and added softly, “Mr. Gamgee, I’m so sorry.” Hamfast had been about to drop his hand, but took it once more, peering closely at Frodo. They were all silent for a long moment.  
  
“You got their attention Mr. Frodo, you done that,” Hamfast said slowly, “But you’ve more than paid for it from what I hear, and I was very sorry to hear what I did.” Frodo tried to swallow but he couldn’t, his throat was too tight. “And you stopped them. That seems clear, though I haven’t had the whole tale. You got Sam back to us in one piece and you got yourself back in one piece. That’s what’s important.” He finally dropped Frodo’s hand and went for his tea cup again.  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said quietly. Bilbo clasped Frodo’s shoulder.  
  
“Be a good lad and run down to the spring house and bring back that brace of river trout we got from Daddy Twofoot yesterday,” Bilbo said.  
  
“You don’t need to be doing all that,” the Gaffer protested.  
  
“Would you like help Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked. Bilbo snorted at them both.  
  
“Yes I do need to do this Ham, and no Frodo doesn’t need help, Samwise,” he said. He turned back on Frodo, his frown deepening. “Well lad?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said and stumbled out of the smial. He went out onto the row, going quickly along the road. He was still breathing quickly, still keyed up, as if he expected more hardness and danger. But the evening was pleasant and quiet. Golden light lit the surrounding hills and the birds were singing out their last songs of the day.  
  
 _And just like that, we've come through it,_ he reflected. _We'll sit down to dinner, as if all of this hadn't happened._ Except of course they wouldn't be eating together if it hadn't happened. They would share this meal and speak of light happy topics to bolster their spirits and bring comfort to everyone. Because in the end, Gamgees and Bagginses would always be there for one another. Without fail.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes and was greatly comforted by that thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower notes  
> Red and white roses together: Unity  
> Borage (star flower): Courage  
> Cedar: Strength


	13. Chapter 13

Later that evening Frodo sat in the parlor window seat, staring out at the evening sky. The window was open slightly and a faint breeze moved past him every once in a while.  
  
“Stop brooding like that and close the window please,” Bilbo complained as he entered the parlor, carrying a tray, “keep those cold breezes out.”  
  
“It’s June. There are no cold breezes,” Frodo said flatly, even as he closed the window, “And I am not brooding. I’m thinking.”  
  
“Well stop thinking and help me take care of this drinking chocolate. I poured you a cup.” Frodo rose, instantly interested. Even though it was summer he would not turn up his nose at drinking chocolate, which Bilbo only served rarely. Pleased, he took the cup, noting the pile of thick whipped cream on top, and if he trusted his nose, a liberal amount of brandy had been included. He sat down next to his uncle on the sofa and sipped, his spirits lifted by the drink and the company.  
  
“You’re sure you don’t want to go back to the festival?” Bilbo asked, “There are still plenty of hours of fun to be had.” Frodo shook his head.  
  
“I’m not really in the mood for boisterous crowds,” he said quietly.  
  
“I can understand that, though it does seem a shame,” Bilbo sighed, “This was supposed to be a happy time.” Frodo lifted his mug and drank.  
  
“I don’t think it is an unhappy time, particularly,” he commented. “Even if there was unpleasantness, we seem to have all come through it.”  
  
“Oh. But then why have you looked so serious ever since we came home?” Bilbo asked frowning and drinking his own chocolate. “You seem to have been pondering something momentous.”  
  
“I was,” Frodo said in a low somber voice. Bilbo blinked at him, frowning.  
  
“If you think that breaking it off with Sam will bring any good well I can tell you it won’t,” he began but Frodo looked up in surprise and cocked his head.  
  
“No, it’s nothing like that,” he said and taking a breath, dropped his gaze to look at the floor, “It’s rather the opposite, really.” There was a pause. “I’d like to… well… go a bit farther with this. With him.”  
  
“Oh I see,” Bilbo said, sounding slightly surprised, “do you… think he’s ready for that?” Frodo tightened his hold on the mug.  
  
“I don’t know,” he murmured. He felt Bilbo shift uncomfortably.  
  
“… And you, my boy?” he asked. Frodo couldn’t make himself answer, but he managed to shrug stiffly. Beside him Bilbo was quiet for a long moment then said softly, “It can be as much about comfort and reassurance as anything else. There’s nothing wrong with that.”  
  
“I know,” Frodo said tightly, though perhaps he hadn’t thought of it that way, "but perhaps it is too fast. Despite everything, he is still very young and I feel responsible.”  
  
“Responsible?” Bilbo asked and shook his head, “You know, I’m sure he feels responsible for you too, if you want to get down to it. As for too fast, well, I’m speaking out of my depth of course, but I’m not sure of what reason you would have for waiting, if the pair of you know one another’s hearts, as you seem to. I don’t see how more time would change anything but drive you up the wall in frustration,” he paused, catching sight of Frodo’s expression, “Well really, neither of you are blushing virgins, my boy.”  
  
“Maybe not, but this is different from our previous trysts,” Frodo said in a low voice, “and I suppose I’m a bit nervous about it, truth be told.”  
  
“That’s only natural. Everyone is the first time with a new partner, to some degree,” Bilbo assured him but Frodo only sighed and sipped the warm drink.  
  
“I know. But aside from a few trifles with the lasses I haven’t done this in a long time,” he said. Bilbo coughed, hiding a smile.  
  
“I don’t think it’s something you forget."  
  
“Lads can be a bit trickier,” Frodo mumbled.  
  
“Ah well, perhaps so,” Bilbo said seriously, “I’m afraid I can’t speak from personal experience in that matter,” he paused, “my impression is good foreplay and plenty of lubricant makes for a successful coupling.” Frodo did pause at that and cast a surprised look at his uncle before chuckling.  
  
“My, my, what you old codgers talk about at the golf league meetings,” he laughed.  
  
“You know I don’t go near the golf league,” Bilbo sniffed, looking slightly scandalized, “I have a few friends who… Well, I could ask one of them to speak with you, if you like?” he asked. Frodo smiled, embarrassed.  
  
“I’m not sure I could bear that, though it is kind of you to offer,” he said.  
  
“I may also have a book on the subject,” Bilbo added thoughtfully and gained another surprised look from his heir.  
  
“Good heavens. Really?” Frodo asked.  
  
“You ought to know by now that I have a book on nearly everything,” Bilbo said proudly.  
  
“It’s not a tawdry chapbook is it?” Frodo teased and watched in delight as Bilbo went red.  
  
“It most certainly is not!” Bilbo frowned, “Hardbound leather with exquisite inks, thank you! And gifted to me by the elves.” Frodo blinked.  
  
“The elves gave you such a book?” he asked curiously and Bilbo went a little redder and glanced away.  
  
“They learned I was a bachelor and assumed… Of course, I suppose it’s not a terribly unreasonable assumption.”  
  
“A bit cheeky on their part,” Frodo said, greatly amused.  
  
“Elves are cheeky. Some of them anyway. And I wasn’t going to turn down a gift from them,” he said airily and paused, “Is it only nerves getting at you? I can’t see that as standing in your way. You two have already taken some liberties, I suspect. Surely you have an idea of how it will be.” Frodo sighed, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Oh, forgive me, my boy. None of my business.”  
  
“That’s alright,” Frodo murmured, “It’s only that I wonder if he would say me nay if he felt unsure of it. I know he’s honest with me, but I do think that he still defers to what I think is right and proper."  
  
“Well perhaps so,” Bilbo mused, “But you are older and a bit wiser. And he looks up to you. Is that wrong of him?”  
  
“No, at least, maybe not in some cases,” Frodo answered, “but I don't think a decision like this should be made solely by me. I'm afraid that if I suggested we went to bed tomorrow he would follow my lead, even if he had doubts or felt unready.”  
  
"Again, I’m speaking out of my depth," Bilbo said in a low voice, "but I can't see Sam doing something like that if he had doubts about it. I would think he’s just as ready as you are, and if he wasn’t then he’d say you nay.”  
  
“He’s never said me nay,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Oh yes he has,” Bilbo said sharply, “But Samwise never lets you think he’s telling you nay. He puts it to you in such a way that you see your folly and think it was your own idea to take his course. Hamfast does the exact same thing,” Bilbo grumbled to Frodo’s amusement. “No, I suspect you’ve never asked him to do anything that went seriously against his beliefs.” Bilbo sank into silence for a moment as he sipped, then he chuckled and added, “Do you know, I once asked Sam if he would plant sunflowers in the patch on the west side of the flower bed, across from the lunaria?” He paused for effect shaking his head mournfully. Frodo blinked at him, sipping his own drink.  
  
“Oh yes?” he prodded.  
  
“Yes. When I told him my plan he got a very serious look on his face and put his hands behind his back and frowned a little. He said to me, ‘Mr. Bilbo, if I plant sunflowers there they’ll cast shade on the lunaria and the lunaria is delicate,’ and I laughed because I had never seen him look so serious and said, ‘Oh! They’ll only cast shade for a few hours in the afternoon and lunaria is not delicate. Why, the elves in Rivendale have it sprouting everywhere so that it’s like a weed.’ And Sam looked at me in absolute horror and went very still. I was rather afraid he was going to cry but when he spoke he was angry, and he told me ‘That may be so in elf country, sir, but the lunaria is out of its native soil and its terrible hard to get it to thrive in the Shire, so it is not a weed in your garden, it is a rare pretty plant and has an air of the elven lands to it, it’s the only thing like it in this Farthing and I won’t go choking it out with something as common as a sunflower. I won’t do it, sir.' I swear the boy looked like he thought I would sack him on the spot, but he still stood his ground and I backed down, though I admit I was more amused than affronted.”  
  
“Oh dear. Remind me never to tread on the lunaria,” Frodo said smiling.  
  
“You’ll be finding yourself a new lad should you do that while Sam is watching,” Bilbo cautioned, “Do you know, it took me two weeks to get back in the boy’s good graces?”  
  
“Oh go on,” Frodo snorted and put his mug down on the tea table.  
  
“I say all of this to show you, he stands up when he truly feels unhappy about something.”  
  
“I suppose I knew that,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“What can I do?” Bilbo asked quietly, “Shall I arrange to be away during the afternoons?” Frodo laughed softly and shook his head.  
  
“It’s your hole, uncle, I won’t have you feeling like you have to leave because of us,” he said. Bilbo smiled.  
  
“It’s your hole too, dear boy,” he said. Frodo paused, caught off guard by the sudden welling of feeling. “Oh there now,” Bilbo chuckled, “That settles it. I shall find myself some business in town tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
“Tomorrow?” Frodo gasped.  
  
“Well, all week then,” Bilbo shrugged. “Or whenever you like. It won’t be difficult, there are always plenty folk in town and around the village that I’ve been needing to call on.”  
  
“You’re far too good to me,” Frodo said fondly.  
  
“Well I-”  
  
“Could you make it evenings?” Frodo asked. Bilbo gave him a surprised look.  
  
“I suppose so,” he laughed, “Prefer to do your wooing at sunset?”  
  
“It’s far too hot in the afternoon,” Frodo sniffed, “And besides, Sam has this odd notion that he ought to be gardening in the afternoon.” Bilbo laughed.  
  
“Evening it is then."

♦

  
Later, after Frodo had retreated to his room, Bilbo sat up, staring out the round kitchen window, sipping warm milk. It was hard to believe his young charge was so grown up, Bilbo reflected. Even though he'd been treating Frodo like an adult for many years, he couldn't help but see him as his dear lad, the same boy who had begged stories from him on his visits to Brandy Hall.  
  
Frodo had been withdrawn when he'd first met him, though friendly and grateful for the attention that Bilbo paid him. They'd spent time together because Bilbo enjoyed telling stories and Frodo seemed to enjoy hearing them. Gradually, over the course of several visits, Frodo had seemed to warm to him, though even that had bewildered Bilbo. He was always conscious of how self centered he was and he knew that his personality tended to irritate people. But not Frodo, seemingly.  
  
And then Saradoc had approached Bilbo and asked if he would like to take Frodo away to the West Farthing to live with him. Bilbo had been troubled by the idea. He hardly knew anything about raising children, he was a terrible role model, and he didn't altogether like the idea of sharing his home after all this time on his own. What if they just irritated one another? He'd told Saradoc he would think on it, but he'd been almost certain that he must refuse. The boy needed parents, he'd thought, and he could never be a parent.  
  
Frodo had come to see him in the Great Hall after supper, as was their custom, and Bilbo read to the boy from a translation he'd been working on about the fall of Gondolin. The hours had slipped by and after a time, Frodo had put his head on Bilbo's shoulder. Soon enough, his breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep. Bilbo had been touched by this gesture, though he'd scolded himself as being overly sentimental. He'd bored the boy to sleep from his tale. There wasn't anything special about that.  
  
The next day he'd impulsively told Frodo that because their birthdays fell on the same day, it would save a lot of bother and hassle if they just lived together and celebrated their birthdays with one giant ostentatious party. To his surprise Frodo hadn't laughed. Instead his face lit up in pure joy.    
  
Though Saradoc had been pleased, Bilbo felt guilty that he'd just taken a terrible risk with this boy's future. And perhaps he had, but after all these years, Bilbo could never regret that impulsive decision.  
  


♦

  
As Sam adjusted the pack of groceries on his back, he glanced over at Number Three as he passed by. The roof was coming along, much quicker than he had expected. He caught sight of Dimple Foxburr, the head builder who raised a hand in greeting.  
  
“Sam-lad! If you’ve a moment?” he called and Sam halted and two traded pleasantries. “Now, when we tore the back section of the roof up, we found some boxes stacked on top of the rafters,” Dimple said.  
  
“Really?” Sam asked frowning. He had thought he had got all the boxes.  
  
“I pulled 'em down for you, they’re just there, inside the door under the finished sections. Thought you might want them.”  
  
“Yes sir, thank you, I’ll get them out of your way,” Sam said and went to investigate. If they were too big he’d come back after dropping off the groceries. As it turned out it was only two small wood crates, the kind that Mr. Bilbo’s fine South Farthing pipe weed came in. Sam pulled the lid off one, feeling vaguely excited but only found a mound of carefully folded fabric. He frowned, disappointed and opened the other box. Fabric again, along with stuffing and a pin cushion, with one long fine metal needle. Well, that was something at least, for metal needles were dear and each sister only had one. Sam sighed and closed the boxes. They were small enough that he could stack them in his arms and carry them back together.  
  
He made his way along the row and came to the front door of Number One. He frowned and kicked the base of the door. After a moment it opened and May scowled at him.  
  
“I didna have my hands free,” Sam explained and went inside.  
  
“Then put the boxes down,” she complained, “I was making stew you know.”  
  
“What kind?”  
  
“Tater,” May sniffed and went back to the fire crane. “Did you find black pepper?”  
  
“Yes. And the scallions,” Sam said, putting the boxes down on the table and took his pack off, unbuttoning it to take out the wrapped food stuffs. “The roof builders found some boxes you lasses missed.”  
  
“We missed did we?” May asked frowning.  
  
“Tis sewing things,” Sam said, “It must be one of yours.”  
  
“Well I’ve got all of mine,” May said and went to the table, looking down at the boxes wrinkling her nose. “Lor, they smell.”  
  
“Well you can’t leave something up in the rafters for an age and not expect it to get musty,” Sam said, examining the summer sausage he had bought.  
  
“Oh, did you get cheese?” Marigold asked as she breezed into the living smial.  
  
“North Farthing cheddar,” Sam said pointing to one of the wrapped bundle.  
  
“Don’t eat it all at once Mari,” Daisy said, following her sister in from their bedroom. “Save some for the Gaffer. You know he loves that stuff.”  
  
“I know,” Marigold said, drifting over to the table where May was pulling out the rolls of fabric. “What’s this?” she asked, “Is it from Bag End?”  
  
“No. The builder’s found it in the back section of the rafters of Number Three,” Sam said. Daisy cast him an interested look and went over to the boxes.  
  
“It’s quilting stuff,” May said and the sisters stared at one another. Sam paused, and glanced back at them curiously.  
  
“Aye, I saw there was a needle in there. Fancy you lasses losing track of something so fine,” Sam chuckled. The girls stared at him, looking blank.  
  
“We don’t quilt, Sam,” May said, “This is mam’s stuff.” Sam did pause then, staring at the boxes. Well, he supposed, that made sense.  
  
“Oh,” he said. “Well, can you use any of it?” Daisy sniffed.  
  
“Maybe if we give everything a wash. It’s been sitting up there for years I suppose, and besides smelling dank it’s got a bit of Mr. Bilbo’s pipe weed smell from being in those boxes.” Marigold had been digging through the second box of fabric. She began to pull out a half-finished quilt. The girls let out exclamations and crowded around it. Sam smiled at them, glad that they were taking pleasure from this. He had been afraid that bringing something of their mother’s would make the girls sad.  
  
“I’m going to make tea,” he said, “would anyone else like some?”  
  
“I would,” May said, “could you make mint?”  
  
“Isn’t this pretty,” Marigold said, “Look at that! I think it’s supposed to be farm fields and a village.”  
  
“How queer! She made it grape fields though,” Daisy said frowning.  
  
“Come look Sam,” Marigold urged him. Sam set the water to boil and came to stand by his sister’s sides. He liked looking at his mother’s things, for she had been a fine quilt maker, but he didn’t pour over the stitch work the way his sisters did. He glanced at it.  
  
“Aye, very pretty,” he said. “I wonder who it was for then. Was Hal’s Opal expecting yet?” Daisy frowned.  
  
“I can’t remember,” she said.  
  
“Well it had to be for one of Hal’s or Hamson’s babes,” May said.  
  
“Turn it over,” Mari said, “Mama always put our initials on the back.” She flipped it and frowned, bent over the cloth. Daisy rolled her eyes.  
  
“Go on lass! Don’t you know enough of your letters to read out an initial?”  
  
“Oh!” Mari said annoyed and thrust the blanket at Sam, “Sam, read it. I don’t know those.” Sam took it, puzzled and glanced down. He gasped softly and stilled, staring at the small stitched initials.  
  
“Well?” Daisy said.  
  
“It says, ‘F.B.’,” he murmured. May blinked in confusion but Marigold and Daisy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  
  
“Eh? What?” May asked. “Who’s-” she paused and then she too stopped and stared at the blanket.  
  
“Turn it over Sam,” Marigold said in a quiet murmur. Sam did and now the blanket made a bit more sense to his eyes. He passed his hands over the lines of grape vines and then to the dark sky dotted with white stars, stitched so that they almost looked like small white flowers with outstretched petals.  
  
“It’s supposed to be Buckland,” Marigold said softly, “Look, there’s the…”  
  
“Brandywine,” Sam breathed, touching the small snake of brown cloth. He doubted the Brandywine would look so small, but his mother would have never seen anything larger than the Water. And the hobbit village wasn’t a village at all, Sam realized, but smials stacked on smials, an attempt to render Brandy Hall.  
  
“She never finished it,” May said frowning.  
  
“Didn’t get the chance,” Daisy said in a thick voice. Sam looked up and his sister met his eyes, looking misty. “Told me once when she was sick that she had a quilt she weren’t done with but didn’t feel well enough to finish it. Never told me what happened to it,” she glanced away, “or who it was for.”  
  
“It was really for Mr. Frodo?” May asked, her eyes wide. “But why? Mama only made those for us.”  
  
“Maybe she were just being kind,” Marigold said. “He was young then too, weren’t he?” she looked to her sisters for confirmation. Daisy was shaking her head.  
  
“Mama didn’t make them for neighbors, nor even for friends,” she sighed.  
  
“But Mr. Frodo didn’t have a mam anymore,” Marigold persisted. Daisy shrugged and began packing the fabric away again.  
  
“I suppose not,” she said, cleared her throat and began to wrap the unfinished quilt back in its wrappings. The conversation was over. Sam wanted to hold the quilt again but turned away. That was all Daisy’s domain, and she would decide what to do with the quilt. He couldn’t help but glance back at her as he went to the fire to check on the water. Daisy closed the box again and stood, catching him watching her. She stared at him for a long moment, then turned away and carried the box into her bedroom. Sam sighed and took the kettle off the fire.

♦

  
Frodo walked along the garden path, watching the afternoon light play over the distant hills and blew out a puff of smoke. He frowned and pursed his lips, trying again but only a thin sickly line of smoke escaped his mouth, not the ring he had been going for. He drew on his pipe again, determined that someday he would be able to make a passable smoke ring and could compete against his uncle. He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t hear anyone at the gate until a quiet voice spoke, “Mr. Frodo?”  
  
Frodo gasped in surprise and coughed, choking a bit on the smoke. He turned with watering eyes to see Daisy Gamgee standing in the lane, watching him. Shakily, Frodo bowed.  
  
“Miss Daisy, good afternoon. I beg your pardon,” he said.  
  
“No, I would like to beg yours, sir,” she said quietly and Frodo paused to peer closer at her.  
  
“Er- would you like to come sit in the garden?” he asked. Daisy stared at the ground a moment, then nodded and opened the gate. She was carrying a small bundle wrapped in cotton cloth. She made no comment about it but went to sit in the small bower covered with wisteria near the path. Frodo stood by it, unsure if she would welcome him sitting by her. There had been a time he had been friendlier with the Gamgee girls but ever since their mother died, Daisy had become more stern and strict about proper place.  
  
“I could fetch something to drink if you like,” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“That’s alright Mr. Frodo. I don’t want to be troubling you,” Daisy said and looked up meeting his eyes for the first time that evening. She smiled faintly. “That looks to be the same pipe you let me and May smoke from all those years ago.” Frodo glanced down at his pipe and nodded.  
  
“Yes indeed,” he said, “Bilbo had just given me my first bag of weed and I was desperate to show off.”  
  
“You were that proud of it,” Daisy agreed. It was a good memory, Frodo reflected. He had gone down to Number Three and sat out back with the youngest members of the family, Daisy, May and Sam. Mrs. Gamgee had been making supper and hadn’t been minding them closely, so Frodo had showed them his pipe and weed bag. At Daisy’s urging he had lit it and showed the Gamgee children how to smoke. Daisy and May had both taken draws on the pipe but Frodo had told Sam he was too young and would get choked. Sam had protested this as terribly unfair and had raised such a ruckus that Mrs. Gamgee came to investigate. She had caught them smoking and scolded Frodo badly, threatened to tell Bilbo and sent him home.  
  
“I hope I didn’t get you all in too much trouble,” Frodo said smiling. Daisy shook her head.  
  
“I think mama thought it was funny, really, but she acted stern around you so you wouldn’t go teaching anymore of the children on the row how to smoke.”  
  
“That was probably for the best,” Frodo laughed. “Your mother always did try to discourage me from being too outlandish.”  
  
“It’s on account of her I come up here sir,” Daisy said quietly.  
  
“Oh?” Frodo asked frowning slightly. Daisy looked down at the bundle in her lap.  
  
“Today the builders found a box stashed in the rafters of Number Three. It had some of our mother's quilting things in it, and an unfinished quilt.” She took a breath and began to unwrap the bundle, pulling away the cotton cloth. “Mama was making a quilt for you, sir. Has your initials on the back and everything. And I think she would want you to have it.” Daisy stood and stepped closer, holding the cloth out. Frodo stilled and stared at it.  
  
“Oh, Daisy,” he breathed, examining the intricate stitching, the bright colors, the small colored squares that made up a tapestry of grape fields, hills, river and forest, and in the center… He reached out and touched the clustered green and brown half circles with round stitched windows.  
  
“It’s supposed to be Brandy Hall, though mama could only go by what da told her of it I guess,” Daisy murmured quietly. Frodo set his pipe down and stepped close again, touching the sides of the quilt. He didn’t know what to say. “You have to take it, sir, or I’ll feel a fool coming up here.” Frodo took the quilt from her, staring at the oldest Gamgee daughter.  
  
“Thank you,” he said. “This is beautiful. I only wish I could have thanked your mother.” Daisy shook her head.  
  
“Mama knew you well enough to know you’d understand what goes into one of her quilts. You do know don’t you sir?” she asked. Frodo gaze down at the bundle of cloth in his hands.  
  
“… Sam showed me his quilt once,” he said quietly, “and told me that your mother made quilts for all her children and grandchildren.” There was a long pause between them and Frodo had to stare very hard at the ground. He didn’t think he could say anything else.  
  
“Sir, I told Sam something I think might not be true,” Daisy said, “but I can’t talk to him. You know how brothers are.” Frodo blinked and looked up. He didn’t actually, but he didn’t want to interrupt. “I told him,” Daisy said and her voice had dropped to a soft murmur, “I told him mama wouldn’t have liked you and him.” Daisy clasped her hands together tightly in front of her. “And I still can’t see it ending well and I wish the pair of you would not have to go through anymore hardship over it. But I can’t be sure about what mama would think on it now, not really. I would have never thought she would make you a quilt. And,” Daisy paused frowning uncomfortably, “the way you stood up against those lads who had Sam. You knew what they could do to you, but you still went out there and risked yourself. I can’t think that mama would have been anything but proud and grateful for that.” She sighed, “so it weren’t right of me to say that to Sam. Not if I ain’t certain anymore.”  
  
“I wish you would tell Sam that,” Frodo said quietly but Daisy grimaced and shook her head.  
  
“I wouldn’t feel right encouraging it,” she breathed, “cause it can get him so badly hurt and bring such trouble down on him.” Frodo bowed his head.  
  
“I’m hardly in a position to argue otherwise after what happened on festival day,” he sighed. “I appreciate you being honest with me Daisy, but you can’t be thinking to change my mind. So why are you telling me this?”  
  
“Because even if I don’t like to encourage it, sir,” Daisy said sharply, “I can see that you and I both care for him and want to keep him safe. Maybe we can see eye to eye on that, and that could be enough for us to be friends again.” Frodo cocked his head, regarding her for a moment and then slowly nodded.  
  
“Yes. That sounds alright. Truce then?” he asked.  
  
“Truce,” Daisy agreed. Frodo stepped back to the bower and took his pipe again.  
  
“Let’s seal it with a smoke,” he chuckled and passed her his pipe. Daisy laughed lightly and took it, drawing the stem to her lips, puffing it a few times, evidently enjoying herself. Then, with a grin she pursed her lips and blew a perfect smoke ring.

♦

  
  
Frodo took the quilt to his room and spread it out at the foot of his bed. He sat beside it, and gazed down at the brightly colored squares, overcome suddenly by a fuzzy memory.  
  
It had not been long after he came to live at Bag End, that first autumn in fact, when he had suddenly fallen sick. Bilbo had grown more alarmed as the evening progressed and his young charge worsened. Frodo remembered hazily lying in his large cold bed, shivering, no matter how many blankets Bilbo piled over him. He had pleaded with his uncle to stoke the fire hotter but Bilbo only shook his head, his eyes wide in fear.  
  
“You’ll burn up, my boy. You’ve got a fever,” and Bilbo’s hand had pressed to his cheek and forehead.  
  
“But I’m freezing,” Frodo had murmured unhappily. His head ached and he hadn’t been able to eat anything all day. Bilbo had retreated, saying something about getting help and Frodo drifted for a while in the darkness, trying to sleep. He had half woken when another hand lay over his forehead, brushing his curls back gently.  
  
“Poor lamb,” a woman’s voice had murmured close by. Frodo had frozen in embarrassment. He didn’t want a healer in his room, seeing him in only his night shirt and small clothes. He pulled the covers up to his chin and opened his eyes blearily staring into the dark room.  
  
“Master?” the woman’s voice came again and it took Frodo a moment to recognize it as belonging to Bell Gamgee.  
  
“Mrs. Gamgee?” Frodo croaked, “I don’t feel well.”  
  
“I know, sweeting,” Bell said quietly. She had made him drink some foul tasting tea and he had fallen into a stupor. Bilbo told him later that he and Bell had carried him to the washroom and together they had managed to get him into the tub and soaked away some of the fever. Frodo had been appalled by this.  
  
“Bilbo!” he had cried, “How could you let her do that?”  
  
“Don’t be silly,” Bilbo had told him sharply, “If Bell hadn’t been there you’d have cooked from that fever. And anyway, the good lady has raised three sons. You haven’t anything that she hasn’t seen before.”  
  
The only other memory from that night that Frodo could recall was drifting dizzily between wakefulness and fever dreams, as Mrs. Gamgee bathed his forehead and sang quiet lullabies to him. He couldn’t remember if he dreamed the next bit of the memory but he had a feeling it had been real. He had taken a breath and said quietly,  
  
“When I die, you must make Bilbo take another heir.” There had been a long silence and then those cool hands returned to his cheek.  
  
“Lad, don’t you be saying such. You’re not going to die.”  
  
“Promise me he won’t be left alone,” Frodo croaked, his eyes slipping closed.  
  
“He shan't be. You’ll be with him,” Bell soothed.  
  
“Mrs. Gamgee, please,” he had pleaded.  
  
“Hush dearie,” the gardener’s wife said and put a fresh cloth over his forehead, “You just sleep now. You’ll feel better in the morning.” The memory ended but Frodo had been told he slipped into delirium for the next two days and did not come to his senses until the third night of his illness. It had been a long recovery, made longer by the fact that he wasn’t allowed out of bed or to have visitors for a week. It had been an unhappy experience but through it Mrs. Gamgee had been nearby, watching him and dosing him with angelica root tea.  
  
Frodo rose and ran a hand tiredly through his curls. He was suddenly restless and on an impulse he went to his window and climbed out, dropping down into the garden. It was late afternoon now and the sky had taken on a hint of golden sunset as Frodo made his way down the hill. He found himself on Bag Shot row, going down to the end to Number One. He paused at the gate and leaned on it, peering into the little front garden. Sam was crouched near the doorway, shoveling rich dark dirt into the beds by the pathway leading to the smial. Hearing a noise he glanced up and met Frodo’s gaze. He smiled, looking delighted.  
  
“Hullo,” Frodo said quietly. Sam slid his thick gardening gloves off and gazed up, his smile not fading away.  
  
“’Lo. And what brings you down here, sir?” he asked. Frodo found himself smiling back.  
  
“I wondered if you might like to take a stroll around the hill?” he asked. Sam stood, stretching and went to the fence, setting his hands on the tops of the uneven posts.  
  
“Are you asking me to walk out with you?” he asked. Frodo chuckled.  
  
“Happen I am,” he said. Sam hummed thoughtfully and reached up to catch Frodo’s hand in his own.  
  
“Right pleased I’d be to take a walk with you,” Sam said in a low voice.  
  
“Bold isn’t it, to hold my hand on the row?” Frodo asked softly. Sam shrugged.  
  
“Everyone on the row knows our business,” he said. Frodo groaned.  
  
“That’s not exactly comforting,” he laughed ruefully. Sam drew his hand up and kissed it.  
  
“Don’t fret,” he said softly.  
  
“No, I won’t,” Frodo sighed. Sam withdrew and turned away.  
  
“I’ll tell the girls I’m leaving,” he said, “Just a moment.” Frodo stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back, waiting as Sam disappeared into the smial. He returned after a minute or two, wearing a fresh shirt. He closed the gate behind him as he joined Frodo on the row road.  
  
“You didn’t have to change,” Frodo said, stepping forward and slid his arm around Sam’s elbow.  
  
“I know. But walking out is special,” he said his tone slightly bashful. Frodo patted his hand and they strolled along the lane, turning when they left the row behind to take the field roads that ran along the Baggins orchards. Frodo liked this road, for it rose above the apple trees, tucking into the long west slope of the Hill.  
  
“When it gets cold,” Sam said quietly, “I’m planning on building a bonfire out in the back field. I’ve been dragging all the dead limbs from the orchard back there.”  
  
“I wondered what that was for,” Frodo commented.  
  
“And you and me could maybe watch the fire at night,” Sam continued shyly.  
  
“Someone will have to,” Frodo agreed, “It wouldn’t do for stray sparks to escape.”  
  
“No,” Sam murmured, smiling. “And I’ll make cider and donuts and we can roast apples.”  
  
“You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?” Frodo murmured happily. Sam snorted.  
  
“Woo you, maybe. If I was out to seduce you I’d have suggested we bring a book of poems with us to read by torchlight.” They both broke out into laughter at that and Frodo’s heart swelled.   
  
“I wonder if I haven’t been remiss in my wooing of you,” Frodo said. Sam cast a look at him and shook his head.  
  
“Can’t see how you figure that,” he said.  
  
“Well,” Frodo breathed, looking into the deep green of the apple trees beside them, “I’m not sure I’ve told you just how appealing I find you. How very handsome you are, and thoughtful, and what a beautiful mind you have.”  
  
“Ah,” Sam ducked his head, smiling.  
  
“And I want you to know that you feel like family,” Frodo added quietly, “though maybe I’m a poor judge of what family ought to feel like.” Sam shook his head still staring at the path before them.  
  
“I’m sure you’re a fine judge,” he said, “It feels the same for me. It’s easy to love you, like I was always meant to. And I can’t recall a time when I didn’t.” Frodo clasped his hand tighter and smiled, feeling warm and happy.  
  
They walked together for another hour before the sun sank down and they began to make their way back toward the row. Sam slipped him a kiss before they came in sight of the hills of Numbers One through Four and bid him goodnight. Frodo clasped his hands together, still warm from the kiss and watched Sam walk back along the path to his home.  
  
They continued this pattern for the better part of a week. Frodo strolled down to Number One at about six o’clock and asked Sam to walk with him. Some days Sam had been working in his garden or had come down from Bag End’s garden only shortly before Frodo’s arrival. Once Frodo came down the path and saw the Gaffer giving Sam instruction on how to weed a particular row along the fence line. At his appearance the Gaffer greeted him kindly and they chatted for a moment before the Gaffer turned to Sam and said, “Go on then lad. Don’t keep the young master waiting.” Sam blushed to his ear tips and wiping his hands on his trousers went out into the lane. They walked together in silence for a while, but Frodo didn’t feel much need to speak just then. He had learned that Sam sometimes needed time to recover from these sorts of incidents. Without comment he took the turn along the west fields of the Hill’s holdings, following the path that eventually met up with the Needlehole road. Sam hurried to catch up and cast a curious look his way.  
  
“Where are we going?” he asked.  
  
“You know the creek that runs down to the Water, the one on the other side of the barley fields?” Sam brightened.  
  
“Aye. The lads of Bag Shot row used to go down there to the swimming hole.”  
  
“I had forgotten about the swimming hole!” Frodo laughed and caught his breath, “You might have been too young but-”  
  
“Oh I heard the story,” Sam grinned.  
  
"Have you?"  
  
"You can tell it again, though. I like hearing it," Sam said. Frodo smiled at the typical hobbit appreciation for often told tales.   
  
“It was back when I first started visiting Bag End. I followed some of the boys to the creek and helped them dam it for a swimming hole, so there would be warm still water for everyone to take a dip in."  
  
“And your aunt from the Hall had come with you for the visit,” Sam added nodding.  
  
“Aunt Esme,” Frodo nodded.  
  
“That Aunt Esme?” Sam asked raising his eyebrows, “who is young Meriadoc’s mother and wife to the Master of Buckland?” he frowned, “she was a Took, wasn’t she?”  
  
“Esmeralda Took, in a previous life,” Frodo nodded.  
  
“Daughter to the Took with a funny name, Adalgrim Took,” Sam murmured.  
  
“Lord Adalgrim wouldn’t have taken kindly to that,” Frodo snorted.  
  
“Lord was it?” Sam asked.  
  
“He had a fondness for calling himself that at one point. The family story is that old Adalgrim went out under a full moon and ate some funny mushrooms. Never was the same after that, though Tooks are so odd no one much noticed.”  
  
“Heavens,” Sam laughed, “And there was a Baggins in there too, wasn’t there?” Frodo closed, his eyes, soothed by the genealogy talk.  
  
“Adalgrim was the son of Rosa Baggins,” he recited, “same generation as Bungo Baggins. You know, from the Ponto branch.”  
  
“Aye, that’s right.”  
  
“Anyway, Aunt Esme and Bilbo had taken a picnic lunch to the back fields and on their way back they came upon the swimming hole.”  
  
“It’s right near the road it is,” Sam said agreeably.  
  
“Aunt Esme, who is a dear woman and always showed me kindness, is a bit of a snob and a prude, bless her. Well, she and Bilbo were on their way back to Bag End-”  
  
“And they go to walk across the old bridge over the creek and they hear the commotion from down below,” Sam supplied.  
  
“So Aunt Esme peeks over, but was horrified to find that all the lads were stark naked.”  
  
“Well they were building a dam in the middle of a creek! Of course they were,” Sam said indignantly.  
  
“Lads in Buckland wear bathing costumes,” Frodo said.  
  
“Well we don’t in the country,” Sam intoned, “So your poor aunt got a shock.”  
  
“More than a shock, because there I was, naked right along with them, covered in mud and sand.”  
  
“And the other lads commoners,” Sam nodded.  
  
“Oh, peasants in Aunt Esme’s eyes. Bilbo said he thought she was going to faint from the shock of it. But then she rallied and shouted down at me-”  
  
“Frodo Baggins! Get you out of that muck and cover yourself! You don’t know where those work-hobbits have been!”  
  
“And she turns to Bilbo and asks him, ‘Do they carry diseases?’” Frodo said. Sam belted out a laugh.  
  
“Oh she didn’t!” he cried, “I never heard that part.”  
  
“Well, it’s so terrible. Bilbo didn’t want to pile that on top of the story,” Frodo said embarrassed suddenly, but Sam laughed heartily to his relief.  
  
“Oh me. But if we was going to the swimming hole we’d have kept on the road a-ways then turned off. We’re headed north,” Sam observed.  
  
“There’s a spot farther upstream where I go when I want to think,” Frodo said, “I’d like to show it to you.” He glanced over as he said it and saw a flush of pleasure in Sam’s eyes.  
  
They continued along the road for a while and then descended into the woods, going down the valley behind the fields and to the creek below. Often when he reached the creek he tucked himself into some hollow or at the base of an oak but today he felt wild and went to the edge stepping out on to the large flat rocks that jutted up and out while the creek water slid around their base, gurgling softly. He turned back and saw Sam staring at the rocks warily before meeting Frodo’s eyes with a mute plea. Frodo chuckled and came down from the rock, slipping an arm around Sam’s shoulders.  
  
“There’s a little hollow where we can sit for a while and watch the creek,” Frodo said, leading him to the left, where tree roots had carved out a cozy little hole. Inside were wooden planks Frodo had brought out and set down into the hollow to make a low bench for himself. Together they sat, leaning back against the tree roots, gazing at the creek before them.  
  
“What a fair place,” Sam said quietly, “And to think it’s so close and I’ve never come on it.”  
  
“I’d reckon your days of carelessly roaming the woods are over,” Frodo murmured. Sam smiled and slid closer, nestling against Frodo’s side. He let out a contented sigh.  
  
“Oh I don’t know,” he said softly, “Maybe not so careless… But…”  
  
“Sam,” Frodo said quietly, “I want to ask you something.” Sam glanced up.  
  
“Aye?” he asked.  
  
“Will you lie with me?” he asked. Sam sat up slightly to peer at him.  
  
“Yes. Now?” he asked. Frodo let out a relieved laugh.  
  
“I didn’t mean now,” he said, “I had rather thought a bed might be more…” he took a breath and glanced, up meeting Sam's eyes, "Truly? You feel ready? I'm not rushing you? Do tell me," he had to stop himself from rattling on. Sam blinked in surprise at the questions.  
  
"You're not rushing me," he said quietly, "Don't be worrying on that."   
  
"Good. I'm glad."  
  
“When?” Sam asked, looking as if he were trying to hide his excitement and doing a rather bad job of it.  
  
“It thought… maybe tomorrow,” Frodo breathed, "but if that's too soon..." Sam took his hand and kissed it.  
  
“Nay. Tomorrow then,” he murmured. “Me dear, surely you weren’t nervous to ask me that? Whatever is making you…”  
  
“I was a bit nervous,” Frodo said quietly, “I don’t want to misstep in this.” Sam leaned close and lifted his face up for a kiss. Frodo closed his eyes as their lips touched. Sam was kissing him slower, more tentatively than he had in a while and Frodo found it very soothing, especially when Sam began running a hand up and down his back. After a moment Sam drew back and gazed at him.  
  
“Only, I wonder does a proper couple lie down together after such a short courtship?” he asked. His voice wasn’t condemning, only slightly worried and curious.  
  
“I’m not sure we can be a proper couple,” Frodo blurted out unthinkingly and saw Sam’s eyes widen. He went on quickly, “there aren’t any models we can follow. And there can’t be a handfasting or a reading out of banns for us. We must make our own way. And those things considered,” he paused and took a deep breath, “I think we’ve done well.” Sam smiled.  
  
“I think we have too,” he said and glanced up, “Banns?” Frodo flushed and looked away.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m presuming,” he said, “I didn’t mean to suggest something so serious.” Sam didn’t answer for a moment.  
  
“No, I’m… Do you mean you might ever want banns read out for us, were that allowed?” Frodo looked out at the water, trying to quash the deep ache filling him.  
  
“I’ve long known I won’t marry,” he said quietly, “Besides only ever seeing myself as loving a lad I could not hold someone to my side when I am so peculiar. And someday I might leave our home go out into the World. I could never see a lover following me.” Sam stared at him, and to Frodo’s surprise seemed unaffected by his words. He only raised his eyebrows slightly.  
  
“Well, true enough unless I’m that love,” he said, “then I’ll just come with you.” Frodo laughed despite himself.  
  
“Can you be so sure?”  
  
“Of course I can,” he frowned. Frodo knew he had been dodging the question and Sam saw that too.   
  
“Banns would mean announcing the seriousness of our intentions to the village. And opening up the opportunity for anyone to challenge us,” Frodo murmured, “I’m not sure that is a good idea, at least at present, but if you are asking if I think there is enough love and devotion between us for the binding that such a proclamation would mean, then I must answer yes. And if you asked me if I would make such a pledge to you then again, I must answer yes.” Sam stared wide eyed at him, caught it seemed off guard by the statement. Then without warning Sam let out a choked sob and covered his face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Frodo soothed, slipping an arm around Sam’s bent shoulders.  
  
“Don’t apologize. That’s the beautifulest…” Sam murmured, wiping his cheeks.  
  
“Will you, my dearest,” Frodo spoke softly, “will you love me?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam sniffled and raised his eyes, fixing Frodo in a warm look, “for as long as I may.”

♦

  
Hamfast Gamgee stood over his short wheel barrow, mixing soils within with a look of concentration. Bilbo watched him, sipping tea from his seat in the bower a short distance away. The Gaffer was planting a row of small berry bushes he'd been growing in the glasshouse. The threat of cold nights had long since passed, but the Gaffer and Sam had been too busy of late to get the plants into the ground.  
  
“How's Number Three coming along?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“Oh very well, sir,” Hamfast said, ignoring the fact that Bilbo probably knew more about the construction schedule than he did. Bilbo smiled.  
  
“And no more dizzy spells?” Bilbo prodded.  
  
“No,” Ham answered. Bilbo watched him lift the shovel with it's heavy load of dirt. _He really should leave such hard labor to Sam,_ Bilbo thought but didn't speak up. Hamfast was just as stubborn as his son.  
  
“That reminds me,” Ham said, pausing, “I visited with Ron Thornburrow in town the other day. I got a little more of the tale of what happened at the old mill with that Sackville-Baggins and his lot.”  
  
“Oh yes?”  
  
“Yes. There was a bit more to the tale than what Sam told me,” Ham said. Bilbo glanced over at him, raising his eyebrows. “I reckon Sam and Mr. Frodo was gone at that point. But I hear you were there when Mr. Lotho made accusations to the shirriff.”  
  
“Oh that,” Bilbo said, sighing.  
  
“It worked out, just as you said, sir,” Ham commented. Bilbo shifted uneasily.  
  
“I'm afraid I treated the matter rather flippantly when you and I discussed what might happen if there was trouble from a shirriff over our boy's courtship. When it came down to it, with Hob standing there, staring at me, asking me to make a statement about Frodo one way or the other, well, I,” Bilbo took a breath, “I'm afraid it rattled me more than I thought possible.”  
  
“It all came alright in the end though,” Ham said.  
  
“Thanks to the shirriff and the rest of Hobbiton standing up for Frodo,” Bilbo closed his eyes.  
  
“It do ease me to know that the folks around here really will take up for Mr. Frodo,” Ham sighed, “I didn't doubt you, sir, truly I didn't. But it is nice to know where it all stands for certain.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“The boys still don't know,” Ham said, glancing up at Bilbo, “at least, Sam doesn't. I suspect Mr. Frodo don't know either? No one is town is talking to their faces about it.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“I just wondered if you thought we ought to tell them. They might need to know that folk will take up for them.”  
  
“Surely they know that,” Bilbo said reluctantly. Ham sent him a keen glance. Bilbo bristled slightly. Ham was too polite to ask why he hadn't told Frodo, but the gardener wanted to know all the same. “Alright! I haven't told Frodo because it would mean also telling him that his cousin tried to have him arrested.” Ham frowned.  
  
“And that's worse than his cousin getting up a gang of his friends to kidnap and beat on him and Sam?”  
  
“It's different,” Bilbo said, dropping his voice. Ham watched him a long moment, then nodded.  
  
“Maybe it is.”  
  
“Frodo is going to have to deal with Lotho. Maybe for the majority of his life,” Bilbo sighed, “there's already such poison between them. I can't help but feel that that poison hurts Frodo more than it hurts Lotho. I can't add to it. I can't hurt my boy more by telling him such.” Bilbo closed his eyes. “Tell Sam, if you wish. But please, ask him not to tell Frodo. At least not now. I don't want Frodo thinking he could have been arrested.” He opened his eyes, “I've been reading up on the law. Did you know that we used to exile hobbits who loved one of their own gender? It's still in the Rules. It could be enforced.”  
  
“Now Mr. Bilbo,” Ham said quietly, “there's not any chance of that happening and you know it.”  
  
“I know. Orders of exile haven't been issued in the West Farthing for almost five hundred years. I just can't bear him thinking that it's even a possibility,” he sighed, “you must think me very silly. Wanting to shelter him like this.”  
  
“I don't think you silly,” Ham said firmly “not at all.” Bilbo bowed his head.  
  
“I gave Frodo reassurances when all of this started, that I wouldn't allow harm to come of this. I meant to guard him. But I couldn't do that.”  
  
“Now Mr. Bilbo,” Ham said quietly.  
  
“I know that I can't guard him against all the hardness in the word,” he said casting a glance at Ham, “I may not be a father, but I know that much. I just thought that I could do this small thing for him. Let him live as he wishes to, here in this life he's made for himself.”  
  
“Seems to me that you've done that,” Hamfast said. Bilbo glanced at him, frowning. Ham sighed and added, “Mr. Frodo never expected you to guard him against the village on this. He never expected you to go out there and work your charm on folks. That were your idea.”  
  
“Well, yes.”  
  
“I'm not saying it were a bad idea. I think it helped ease the village into it."   
  
“You think so? It was only our friends with us there at the old mill,” Bilbo sighed. Hamfast raised his eyebrows.  
  
“Some folk might yet repeat any sort of rough talk they've heard their whole lives about lads like Mr. Frodo, but you must know they don't really hold any ill will against him. Not really. They know his quality.”  
  
“I suppose,” Bilbo sighed. Ham considered him.  
  
“It's your opinion Mr. Frodo cares about, not the village's,” Ham said quietly. Bilbo looked up at him. Ham dropped his gaze to the fresh soil before him. “It's your belief in him that's let him take this chance and live as he wishes.” Bilbo blinked, unable to find words. “And as for the hardships out there waiting,” Ham said quietly, “I'd not worry on that overmuch. Mr. Frodo is strong. Maybe stronger than either one of us guesses. I think that no matter what threat Mr. Lotho or anyone else calls up against him, Mr. Frodo will always stand against it with courage and in the end, he'll come out on top.” Slowly, Bilbo relaxed. Ham was right. This was the Shire and Frodo would face no danger here. There was no reason to concoct elaborate escape routes to Rivendale or any other such places beyond the bounds of their home.  
  
“You're quite right, old friend,” Bilbo said slowly, then smiled, “Besides, I think Sam wouldn't allow Frodo to do anything but triumph, whether Frodo likes it or not.” Ham rolled him eyes.  
  
“The boy is just that stubborn.”

♦

  
Sam sat at the table and stared at the parchment before him with mounting panic. Behind him the Gaffer was snoring loudly, not helping his concentration. He had for several nights been trying to write Frodo a letter but so far his efforts had only produced ruined parchment. Tonight however he was determined to write it and have it for Frodo tomorrow morning. He wanted Frodo to have it before the evening when they would… Sam steered his mind away from that.  
  
_Why did I ever say I'd write him a love letter?_ He asked himself as he ground his knuckles into his eyes and groaned quietly. _He knows I love him,_ Sam thought, _why did I ever think I could manage to put down on paper what I feel?_ But then he considered how very dear Frodo’s letter had been to him, and how it had told him what the gentlehobbit felt in ways that speech and action had not. Sam sighed and glanced at the stack of books beside him.  
  
Bilbo had always let him borrow whatever books he liked from the library and had hardly looked up when Sam came to his study, books in hand to ask permission. Sam was glad that Bilbo hadn’t looked too carefully at his selection because the old master would have chuckled if he had spotted _The Academy of Amour A Variety of Complemental and Elegant Expressions of Love and Courtship, very fit to be read of all Young Hobbits and Hobbit-Maids, desiring to learn the true way of Complements_. The book was propped open now and Sam glanced at it accusingly. At the bottom of the page printed carefully was, _By the Most refined Wits of this Age_. Refined wit Sam was not, and Frodo knew it. He flipped to the pages he had marked and stared at the passage titled, _Upon her affability and Reception_. The passage had seemed close to what he felt, but Sam had struggled with his own words for nearly an hour and he was starting to feel the creeping fatigue of the day wear him down. Once again he set his eyes to the passage and read silently, _It is your acceptance that lends me the favour which Nature hath denied me_. Licking his lips Sam dipped his quill in the ink bottle at his elbow and set it to the parchments.

> _Dear Frodo,_  
>  _Forgive me if I’m clumsy in my words. You wrote about having a hard time speaking your heart, and now I have a hard time writing out what I feel. But knowing your mind on this courtship is a blessing to me, and makes me feel that I could do most anything, so I’ll try and get it down on paper even though I wasn’t born to write the sort of fine verses this deserves._

  
He paused and his eyes went back to the book, reading, _Each part above you shines with a peculiar grace, but in your mild behavior they all concentrate._ Sam moved down to start a new line and wrote,

> _My dearest, where do I begin? All that I see in you, all the kindness and wisdom, the thoughtful quietness, I love. There is a light in you, and it marks you out as special. I could see that from the time I was a babe, though I didn’t understand it. I only knew that you were a bit different from other lads, even gentlehobbit lads. Don’t be wishing it were otherwise, for I never could, nor could any that love you. You are strong and wise in ways that they can’t ever be._

  
Sam sighed and read his words. It was true, all of it, but he wasn’t sure he had done anything more than lay out the sort of things he might say to Frodo if he were being honest. The letter ought to touch on things he hadn’t spoken or hadn’t the courage to ever speak. He turned back to the book hoping for inspiration. He read, _Upon your brow, Beauty and Honour sit enthrone’d, whence in your stately carriage they disposition you with me well, as it is of dutie that I honour you._ He dipped his pen again and set it to the parchment once more.

> _I used to think that it was enough to serve you and love you in my way, for you were so high above me I thought, with so much dignity and grace, and that it would shame you for me to speak on what was in my heart. Maybe it would have been enough if everything had stayed the same, if I had never had any reason to think you would return my feelings and my want. But I think maybe that’s wrong too- I think we were bound to find this out and I’m glad it’s been sooner than later. It would make me sad to think we might have gone years and got old and gray before we understood how much love there was between us. There’s something in you that matches something in me- that makes me feel right about all this.  
>  _  
>  _I write all this hoping you’ll understand that when I say I swear myself to you you’ll not think it some idle tweener oath. Seeing to you and loving you is my heart’s duty and delight. If I am able to stay at your side until my dying day then that would be my greatest wish come to pass.  
>  _  
>  _Your Samwise_

  
Sam reached in a pocket for a handkerchief and wiped the pen nib clean, staring at his words. They gave him unexpected chills.  
  
_Aye, this is serious,_ he thought, _it’s the real sticking point here, for if I give him this letter then there is no turning back._  Sam sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back. No, it wasn’t the giving of this letter that meant his future would be changed, it was what was in his heart.  _Following Frodo Baggins is what I’m meant to do, and do it I will,_ he thought, _I can’t turn away from that path now_.  
  
He recalled suddenly Bilbo waxing philosophically once evening by the fire when Sam had stayed late to listen to the old master’s stories, crouched on the floor by his chair. Bilbo had leaned back gazing at the ceiling and said, “Hobbits think life is decided by making the big choices, who to wed, what they will accomplish in life, how many babes they sire, or even whether or not to follow when a wizard and thirteen dwarves invite you on an adventure… But life is just as much decided by the small choices that we make each day. Shall I be kind and help the widow carry her packages from town? Shall I go to the pub and have a laugh with the lads or stay home content with solitude? The small choices may not shape the outcomes of life, but they shape the sort of hobbit you will be and the effect you have on the world and people around you. And sometimes, that is more important than where you set up a home or even who you share it with.” Bilbo had smiled tiredly and gazed down at Sam. “That may sound like strange advice, but then I am an old strange bachelor.” Sam had gaped at him, too young and awed to say anything. Bilbo had laughed softly and patted his head. This gave Sam enough courage to speak up.  
  
“But it does matter some, Mr. Bilbo, who you share your home with. For don’t that have a lot to do with the sort of hobbit you are, and the sort of hobbit you will be?” he asked. Bilbo had paused for a long moment and then nodded, conceding the point. His gaze traveled to the other side of the room, where Frodo was curled up, asleep on the sofa, a blanket hiding all but his pale face.  
  
“Yes indeed my boy,” Bilbo murmured quietly, “Perhaps it makes all the difference.” They were silent for a moment and then the old master’s eyes shifted back to his young companion. He smiled slightly and said, “So, make your choices master Samwise, the big ones and the small ones with care, and be most considerate on who you share your home with.”  
  
Sam came back to the present and shivered. He opened his eyes and took the letter in hand, tilting it back and forth to spy any wet ink, but the words had dried. Carefully Sam folded the parchment and reaching into his writing box, he found a length of red ribbon which he tied loosely around the paper. Then, he gingerly tilted his long suffering candle until a puddle of wax dripped down over the ribbon. Replacing the candle stick Sam reached for his seal stamp and quickly pressed it into the wax. Thoughtfully Sam lifted the seal stamp and gazed down at the flowing SG that had been pressed into the cooling wax. Bilbo had given him the wax seal several years ago, and though Sam had appreciated the gift he admitted he had thought of it as frippery that he wasn’t likely to use. Now he was grateful to the old master, for at least his letter looked the part. Quietly Sam tidied up and took the letter away to rest on the little table by his pallet. He pinched the candle out and was about to climb into bed when he became aware of a faint sound, rising and falling outside the smial.  
  
He stilled and listened carefully for a long moment. It was music. The soft notes of a flute. Sam gasped and padded carefully to the back of the smial, casting one last look at his dad before going to the window. Outside in the moonlight among the tall grass of the field that backed the row he could make out a solitary figure playing a long wooden flute, hands moving slowly back and forth along the length of the instrument.  
  
“Oh,” Sam sighed as joy and fear thrilled through him; joy because he knew the form outside was Frodo, and fear because it seemed so much like something from a tale. A foolish hobbit boy being lured from the safety of home and hearth out into the world, led by a stranger playing a flute. But he was just as helpless to resist and without another thought he crept to the door and eased out onto the back porch.  
  
It was Frodo, Sam could see that now, standing in the grass behind Number One, playing an old tune Bilbo had invented and sung often to them when they were children. Sam sighed again, and leaned against the railing of his porch, singing softly to the tune,  
  
_Roads go ever ever on, over rock and under tree,_  
_By caves where never sun has shone,_  
_By streams that never find the sea._  
  
Frodo moved closer until he stood in the shadow of Number One, his face turned up and his eyes seeking Sam’s. Sam smiled and continued singing,  
  
_Over snow by winter sown,_  
_And through the merry flowers of June,_  
_Over grass and over stone,_  
_And under mountains in the moon._  
  
The music faded and Frodo lowered the flute. They gazed at one another solemnly in the moonlight and Sam had the queer notion that they were caught in a spell. Frodo stepped forward and reached for his hand and Sam gave it to him. Frodo drew it to his lips and kissed it.  
  
“What a fair voice you have,” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“Thank you,” Sam said, flushing in pleasure.  
  
“I am ever so glad it was you that came to the window. I didn’t fancy explaining myself to your father,” Frodo chuckled softly, his voice low and thoughtful. Sam smiled.  
  
“My whimsical Mr. Baggins,” he said, “thank you for the song.”  
  
“You’re quite welcome, my dear Mr. Gamgee,” Frodo said and drew back, “Sleep well.”  
  
“Good night,” Sam breathed, watching him go until Frodo disappeared around the side of the row. _Glory,_ he thought reeling. Slowly he went back inside and closed the door quietly behind him.  
  
His choice was made.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for reading and leaving comments. It means a lot and helps me to be a better (and more motivated) writer. I wrote this story for myself, to calm down from a hectic and toxic work place. Writing about hobbits who enjoy small things and are kind and care for one another turned out to be the perfect way to decompress after a long day. If it helps other people chill out then that makes me very happy. 
> 
> One more note, if you want to download a personal copy of any of my stories I am completely ok with that. Internet things are not forever; Sites come and go. Ao3 makes it easy to get a pdf copy so take advantage of it. There’s so many stories I wish I had copies of but I never thought to save them. 
> 
> If you like this story you might like my other story Poisoned Mushrooms- it’s a pre-quest slow burn with a lot of focus on Frodo’s friendships/found family. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. Until next time.   
> -YamBits

Frodo awoke slowly, enjoying the feeling of waking in a sunlit room. He sat up and shrugged off the covers, yawning. As he did, his eyes caught on a sealed letter sitting on his bedside table. Beside it lay a thin stalk burgeoning with small yellow flowers. Frodo vaguely recognized the flowers as forsythia. He paused, reaching out taking the letter and flower in hand, a warm joy filling him. Frodo’s eyes went to the flower bunch again and lingered there. On impulse he stood up and went to his bookcase and took down Minto Boggy-Hillocks' _Floral Emblems with Illustrative Poetry_ , and flipped to the page on forsythia.  
  
“Forsythia for anticipation,” Frodo read and snapped the books shut, sinking down onto his bed once more. It was very probable that every flower Sam had given him held a message, Frodo realized. He had only been too dense to think to look them up. _Sam must think I'm either heartless or witless_ , he thought, unhappily. But no, Sam wouldn't. Sam was too kind to ever think that, and he'd love him no matter what Frodo managed to bungle. Frodo sank back against his head board and sighed, watching the dust motes float in the sunbeam above his head.   
  
He held up the sealed letter, turning his attention to it, savoring the feeling of anticipation, a smile growing as he gently broke the wax seal. Frodo sat very still, reading in the warm room with his legs crossed under him. Slowly he lowered the letter to lay in his lap and sat for several moments in silence, his eyes closed. Then he rose, his head swimming as he moved automatically, washing his face at the washstand, buttoning his shirt and fastening his waistcoat and breeches. He turned and gazed at his window, the curtains opened and blowing gently in the morning breeze, no doubt drawn back by Sam himself. Frodo went to the window and leaned out.  
  
Sam was out there, though far away in the back corner of the vegetable plot with his back turned. Frodo watched him silently as Sam worked, weeding the rows. This weeding went on for several minutes before Sam reached the end of the row and turned to move to the next, when his eye finally caught sight of the one watching him. He slowed and then stilled for a long moment, before abandoning the weeds and standing, walked toward the window.  
  
“Good morning,” Sam said as he came to stand under the eve. His tone was charmingly nervous to Frodo’s ears. Frodo leaned down and held out his hand, which Sam took without hesitation. Frodo capped it with his other hand and gave Sam a smile, knowing that his face was aglow with joy.  
  
“Good morning,” he said and drawing Sam’s hand up kissed it. Sam gasped and bit his lip. Frodo laughed quietly and added, “You know, there are few sights fairer than seeing you in the garden with the morning light all about you.” Sam clutched the side of the smial, his knees looking as if they had suddenly gone weak.  
  
“Aah, me dear,” he murmured.  
  
“Your letter was beautiful,” Frodo told him softly, “I can’t tell you what it means to me.” Sam’s cheeks pinked but he smiled shyly, looking pleased.  
  
“I’m… glad. It’s fair hard to know how to go about writing such a thing, but I’m glad I done it.”  
  
“As am I,” Frodo assured him and drew his hand away. “I am planning on being away today. I have some errands and business in town, but I’ll be back by tea. If I don’t see you before you leave I wonder if you might like to join me for an early dinner,” he took a breath, “say six o’clock?”  
  
“Aye. That sounds fine,” Sam breathed.  


♦

  
Frodo set out shortly after first breakfast. He was eager start on his errands and be back in time to cook dinner and bathe and do anything else he might think of before Sam arrived that evening.  
He set his eyes to the path ahead and began to plot. It wasn’t only innocent errands he was set on this morning, but a reckoning. He had decided he must act and settle his cousin before he could be at ease. Sam had looked at him days ago and said that he saw their coupling as something special, with time and privacy and the outside world locked away and settled so that it would not intrude and Frodo was determined that it would be so.  
  
He had puzzled over how to deal with his cousin for several nights and finally had hit on a solution that was so blindingly obvious he was stunned he hadn’t seen it before. Frodo turned off the Overhill path and walked out into the county for a mile or so, out to his distant aunt Gingerella and her sister Emerald Grubb’s country smial. They were hosting the Sackville-Bagginses while they stayed close to Hobbiton and Lobelia got on famously with Gingerella. Frodo had never spent much time around Gingerella or Emerald, despite their proximity, because Bilbo had said in dark tones that the sisters were _poetry haters_. What had sealed it, apparently, was a remark that Gingerella made decades ago, disparaging dwarves and Bilbo had loudly and publicly sworn off ever speaking to her again.   
  
Frodo came up the path and to his quiet satisfaction saw that Lotho was sitting in the garden out front, smoking. He caught sight of Frodo and stilled for a long moment as Frodo moved closer, coming at last to lean against the gate, peering in at him.  
  
“Good morning,” Frodo said coolly.  
  
“Good morning,” Lotho said carefully and snuffed his pipe. They stared at one another, warily until Frodo straightened.  
  
“Look here,” he said, “It’s not worth it for either of us to fight.” Lotho rose, his eye wide in incredulity.  
  
“No?” he huffed, “You’ll ruin my name!”  
  
“Don’t be stupid. No one is going to mistake a Baggins for a Sackville-Baggins or the other way round,” Frodo growled.  
  
“I’m not going to put up with your sort-”  
  
“Lotho,” Frodo said very sharply and Lotho gasped despite himself, for Frodo had finally let his fury show, “if you ever threaten me or my friends, if you breathe one more word on the subject of my business then I will write you out of our line of succession. You and your family will never see Bag End!” Lotho gaped, deeply shocked.  
  
“I- I say!” he stuttered, “You can’t!”  
  
“Oh yes I bloody can,” Frodo snarled, “I am the heir to the Hill whether you like it or no, and it is I who will determine the destiny of the Baggins estate after Bilbo.”  
  
“The… Rules…” Lotho said weakly, “The estate will pass through the patrilineal line… to maintain agnatic primogeniture!”  
  
“Oh, someone has been reading,” Frodo remarked.  
  
“Frodo this isn’t funny!” Lotho gasped.  
  
“No it bloody well isn’t,” Frodo said again, feeling extremely pleased at the mounting panic in his cousin’s face. “I know, you were angry and felt you had to get back some of your own, but you went too far. I will tie the place up in so much legal paperwork your solicitor could have no chance at unraveling it all in a hundred years. I shall have the line altered in such a way that it jumps as far from you as possible. I think I may direct it toward the Chubb-Bagginses. Dear old uncle Falco always did have a place of affection in my heart.”  
  
“You bloody…” Lotho huffed.  
  
“Oh the other hand,” Frodo said smoothly, “It is far less trouble for me to leave things as they are.” He paused, watching Lotho, who was staring at him, his face red now in suppressed rage. “I’m not unsympathetic to your family’s claim on Bag End. I’m sure it was a terrible disappointment to your mother all those years ago, so I will tell you my terms: I shall leave your family in place behind me to inherit the estate, and this too, should I ever decide to sell the place I shall offer it to your family first.”  
  
“At a marked up rate I shouldn’t doubt.”  
  
“At whatever rate an administrator decide the estate is worth. I will offer you a fair price, you have my word,” Frodo said. Lotho swallowed and looked away.  
  
“Upon what conditions?” he asked.  
  
“That you keep silent on my personal business and harm no hobbit under my protection,” Frodo said in a low dangerous voice, “That you will not so much as speak to any member of the Gamgee family unless it is to offer them a good morning. If there is even the barest hint of rumor or ill will from you then your chance at the estate vanishes.” He paused and added, “We have had this little skirmish, like lads do, but cross me again cousin and the results will be far less pleasant for you than a trip to the shirriff’s root cellar. It is not wise to tamper with me. I have many friends and they shall be watching you.”  
  
“No hobbit would dare raise a hand against me,” Lotho said through his teeth. Frodo smiled slightly.  
  
“Not all my friends are hobbits,” he said softly. Lotho gaped for a long moment then closed his mouth and turned away.  
  
“It is easily done,” he said quietly, “I have no interest in your sordid affairs. I suppose that whatever you do to shame yourself doesn’t concern me, especially if we make an effort to avoid one another, something I am all too willing to attempt.”  
  
“As am I,” Frodo agreed.  
  
“Very well. I agree to the terms,” Lotho said blandly, “But I should like to have this in writing.”  
  
“This is not the sort of agreement that one files with a solicitor,” Frodo said slowly. Lotho paused, thinking for a long moment.  
  
“No,” he agreed, “I suppose not. But I have only your word and your threats. I should like some assurance, something that will hold you to our little agreement.”  
  
“I cannot think what that would be. I have nothing to offer you but my word,” Frodo said.  
  
“Then I would have a promise from you,” Lotho said thoughtfully, “I have agreed not to meddle in your affairs, so I would ask the same from you.”  
  
“Very well,” Frodo agreed slowly.  
  
“And I should claim some token, some collateral to be returned upon you meeting your promise,” Lotho said.  
  
“What’s this, you want the remaining silver spoons?” Frodo laughed humorlessly.  
  
“The pipe you carry, it was your father’s wasn’t it?” Lotho asked quietly. Frodo stilled.  
  
“You want my pipe?”  
  
“I want something dear to you,” Lotho answered, “And knowing you as I do, that pipe is worth more to you than all the jewels in Bag End.” Frodo did not answer for a long moment. “We must both be willing to compromise. And just think, you’ll get it back someday if you sell the smial to me.” Frodo frowned at the part left out, that the other way of meeting the terms of the agreement would be his death and the estate passing to the Sackville-Bagginses.  
  
“Very well,” Frodo sighed and drew the pipe from his jacket pocket. He handed it to Lotho and the two hobbits looked hard at one another.  
  
“Though there will never be any amity between us, cousin,” Lotho said quietly, “our fates are twined. I fear this agreement only serves to bind us tighter to one another.”  
  
“On the contrary,” Frodo said stepping away, “My fate and your fate are bound to more important matters than property and estates. Good day.” With that Frodo touched his cap and set off, turning his back on his cousin.  


♦

  
Frodo came into town about noon. He had wandered the countryside for a few hours, enjoying the breeze and the solitude of a morning walk. He also needed time to calm his nerves after the encounter with Lotho. Though it had gone mostly well, he hadn’t enjoyed it, less so when he had handed over his father’s pipe. That had cost him dearly but Frodo told himself sternly it was only a thing. What he had gained was far more valuable.  
  
He also felt a slight unease about threatening his cousin, but it had been justified he felt. He may not have had friends outside the Shire, as his uncle did, but he tended to take advantage of Bilbo’s reputation for madness and strange guests when it suited him.  
  
He ate a pleasant lunch at the Dragon and then continued to the market stalls, purchasing onions, mushrooms, and a small hen wrapped tight in cloth and packed with ice in a small grass basket. He paused at the little creek that ran through town and set his bags down. It was afternoon now and the sun was warm. Frodo shrugged off his waistcoat and sat in the shade, easing his feet in the cool gurgling creek water. He watched the townshobbits drifting from stall to stall from across the creek. There was Mr. Bulger and Mr. Grubb and Mrs. Goodbody gossiping and bargaining and laughing. Frodo felt wonderfully sleepy in the shade and was about to lie back, soothed by the water sounds when he saw Bilbo in the distance. He was walking along the main road laughing with old Mr. Underbarrow.  
  
“Bilbo, good old Bilbo,” Frodo murmured to himself. He lay down, and gazed up at the whispering branches above. He was slipping into dream and memory and with a sigh Frodo allowed himself to drift away.  
  
Years ago it was, he had walked the shelves of the Brandy Hall library staring at the soft brown leather books, some with their spines crisp and supple, some worn with bindings showing, and some turned dark, so that they left smears of powdery redrot on his hands when he touched them. Gingerly, he reached out and drew a thin volume, rubbing the soft cover. He opened the book but only odd cramped runes met his eyes where he expected to find a title page. Frowning Frodo looked up at his aunt Esme who was squinting at her own book in the dim candle light.  
  
“Aunty?” he asked.  
  
“Hm?” she murmured without looking up. Frodo held the book out to her.  
  
“What is this? It looks like some strange language,” he said. His aunt turned and gazed down at the runes, nodding.  
  
“It’s the fairy language,” she said, “we don’t have many of those sorts of books, but there are the odd one or two scattered about.” She went back to her book of poetry, turning a page. Frodo drew the fairy book to his chest and leafed through the pages curiously.  
  
“Is there anyone at the Hall who can read it?” he asked.  
  
“I shouldn’t think so,” Esme said quietly, “Some of the Took relations might be able to read it.”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo said, looking for illustration now, but to his disappointment there were none. Only the odd bit of illuminated script. “We don’t get many Tooks here, except the holidays,” he murmured quietly, “Where did the book come from?”  
  
“That one? I think your uncle Bilbo gave it to Sara several years ago. Not terribly useful, but his mathoms seldom are.”  
  
“Have I met uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked as he flipped to the back cover to see if there was any writing he could read.  
  
“I don’t think so. He lives out in the West Farthing so we almost never see him,” Esme said and glanced up, “Bilbo might be able to read it. I think he claims to read fairy letters.” She chuckled softly, “Mind you Frodo-lad, you mustn’t listen to what your uncle Bilbo says. Everyone thinks he’s quite mad.”  
  
“Really?” Frodo looked up. He liked relations that the Brandybucks thought mad. It generally meant they were entertaining.  
  
“Oh he’s harmless,” Esme said, “And rather good at story-telling if I recall. I’ll have to write him to come next Yule so you can meet the old dear. Maybe then he can tell you something about that book.”  
  
“Thank you, aunty,” Frodo had replied. The next memory he had having to do with Bilbo was later at Yule. He had been on his way to bed when he heard raised voices from the parlor and paused in the hallway outside.  
  
“I beg your pardon mam, but I can’t be having this gentlehobbit in and out of the servant’s wing.”  
  
“Oh really,” Frodo recognized his aunt Esme’s voice, “I don’t see why you’re so upset Proudfoot. Surely other gentlehobbits visit the servant’s wing?”  
  
“Other gentlehobbits don’t give lessons in thievery to the footmen.”  
  
“Burglary,” an old slightly cranky response came, “not thievery. There is a marked difference.”  
  
“I beg your pardon sir,” the stiff butler replied, “But I don’t see much of one.”  
  
“Bilbo-dear,” Esme said, “Not everyone appreciates your rather odd sense of humor. Do please refrain from burglary lessons this visit.”  
  
“Oh very well,” Bilbo grumbled. Frodo had chuckled, and continued down to hall to seek his bed. He was looking forward to meeting this eccentric uncle of his. But the next day he had been called away to house duties and seeing to his visiting cousins. He forgot about seeking out Bilbo. That evening, he was cornered by a group of Brandybuck uncles and by seven o’clock he was seated and eating with his uncle Dinodas, Amaranth, and Gorbulas in one of the further flung wings of the Hall.   
  
Their talk had been boring and they mostly ignored Frodo, which was fine with him. He had even imagined that he might slip away when done with his food, offering to fetch his uncles their brandy and pipes before making a quiet exit, but that was not to be.  
  
“… But of course young Frodo would know nothing of that, the poor lad,” uncle Dinodas said. Frodo came back to the conversation, guilty and uneasy that he had not been following along.  
  
“Maybe not, but the boy is very attached to his aunt,” Gorbulas said in a low voice. Frodo froze then quickly resumed his eating, staring at his plate.  
  
“Well, no parents,” Dinodas observed, “any wonder that he looks to Sara and Esme?”  
  
“He hardly looks to Sara, its Esme he spend his time with. And not just Esme,” Gorbulas said slowly, eyeing Frodo from across the table, “Sits with all the lasses at their sewing and reads. The boy hardly associates with his fellows. Isn’t that right Frodo?” Frodo held very still.  
  
“Oh, Frodo my lad, we’ll get you doing proper things this holiday,” Amaranth said.  
  
“What’s wrong with associating with the lasses eh?” Dinodas laughed, “I rather associate with the lasses too. Good on you I say, Frodo.” Gorbulas cast a withering look at Dinodas. There was a long silence before Gorbulas shifted in his seat.  
  
“You know what they say about poetical lads,” he growled, “weak character. Limp in body and wicked minded.”  
  
“Oh,” Dinodas said and cast a surprised look at Frodo. Amaranth snorted in amusement.  
  
“You must beat that out of him,” he said.  
  
“Saradoc said it would cause a stir, Frodo Baggins turning up at breakfast with welts all over him,” Gorbulas murmured, “but I don’t see why he couldn’t be beaten where it wouldn’t show.”  
  
“Frodo-lad, is this true?” Dinodas said, putting his wine glass down to frown at his nephew. Frodo raised his eyes and met Dinodas’ stare but didn’t speak.  
  
“Tis a shame old Drogo isn’t here. Proper chap he was, even for a Baggins. He’d put a stop to this,” Gorbulas said pointing across the table, “Drogo wouldn't have stood having such wickedness in a son. Saradoc is too soft, he seems to think Primula wouldn’t have want the boy beaten.” He leaned back and stuck a pipe in his mouth, “Maybe so, but lasses don’t understand. They don’t see what goes into making a proper gentlehobbit. I know my sister would not have wanted her boy to degrade himself in such a way.”  
  
“I beg your pardon, but I would rather you didn’t-” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Don’t talk back to your uncle,” Amaranth said, almost absently.  
  
“Please stop talking about my parents,” Frodo said, hearing his voice grow stronger.  
  
“And I beg your pardon,” Gorbulas growled. “But if I choose to speak, a Baggins welp like you isn’t-”  
  
“I’m sorry,” came a calm voice from the hallway. Frodo twisted around in surprise and saw standing framed in the doorway an old hobbit dressed in a fine red brocade weskit with gold buttons and matching smoking jacket. But it wasn’t his clothes that caught Frodo’s attention, but his bright inquisitive eyes full of intelligence, and those eyes were focused on him.  
  
“Bilbo,” Dinodas said with some hesitation in his voice, “what brings you to this side of the Hall?”  
  
“Fancied a stroll,” Bilbo said briskly, “Now then, did I hear the name of Baggins taken in vain?”  
  
“A joke, cousin,” Gobulas said quickly with loathing in his voice.  
  
“It didn’t sound like a joke,” Bilbo said stepping into the room, peering at Frodo.  
  
“This isn't any of your business, Bilbo,” Amaranth said.  
  
“Well that’s a bit sharp. I thought this was the season of cheer and hospitality. I would have expected better from Brandy Hall,” Bilbo said, looking completely unflustered and in fact very amused.  
  
“Right you are cousin Bilbo,” Dinodas rose and bowed, “Beg your pardon. But we were having a private conversation and interrupting is hardly-”  
  
“Frodo Baggins I presume?” Bilbo said, looking down at the young hobbit. Frodo gaped for a moment before regaining his composure.  
  
“Yes sir?” he asked. Bilbo smiled at him.  
  
“You and I have business, I believe,” he said.  
  
“Sir?” Frodo dithered.  
  
“Come along lad,” Bilbo said kindly, “Let’s leave these old codgers to their nonsense.” Frodo rose and followed Bilbo out, amazed by the old hobbit. He heard grumbling behind him but he suddenly couldn’t care less about his Brandybuck uncles. He and Bilbo walked down the dark hallways in silence for a minute or two before Frodo said quietly,  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
“For what?” Bilbo asked, genuinely puzzled. Frodo smiled into the darkness ahead of them.  
  
“I was having a bad time in there. Thank you for the rescue,” he said. Bilbo chuckled.  
  
“Oh that,” he murmured, “well they are tiresome old gits, aren’t they?” Frodo was not a little astonished by this.  
  
“What is this business, if I may ask?”  
  
“Have you ever hear the Elven lays spoken aloud?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“No sir,” Frodo answered.  
  
“Then that is our business. I hear that you had some curiosity about the fair folk and their tales.” An unexpected joy bloomed in Frodo then and he looked up at Bilbo, smiling for the first time that day. Bilbo smiled back, “or was I mistaken?”  
  
“No sir. I am very interested,” Frodo assured him.  
  
“Good lad!” Bilbo said and they two continued down the hall together. The rest of the visit they were inseparable, devouring Brandy Hall’s entire collection of Elvish poetry, hobbit tales of the Outside- what few there were, written mostly by Tooks, and Bilbo’s own There and Back Again tale. They stayed up an entire night as Bilbo told the story of his adventure by the light of a dying fire in the Great Hall. When Frodo slept later that day his dreams were all full of dwarves and wizards and dragons. At the end of the visit, as he bid Bilbo good bye and watched his carriage disappear, Frodo realized how much he cared for the old hobbit who told tales of the outside and defied convention and predictability. He dearly hoped his strange uncle from the West Farthing visited again soon.   
  
Frodo opened his eyes and saw that the light had shifted, so that at least an hour had passed. He sat up slowly and rubbed his head.  
  
“Lovely, this spot,” came a soft voice at his side. Frodo turned, not at all surprised and saw Bilbo sitting beside him in the grass, his eyes fixed on the stream in front of them. Frodo felt his breath catch and his eyes pricked with tears. Bilbo blinked and looked down at him.  
  
“Frodo?”  
  
“Don’t mind me,” Frodo said quickly and sat up. “Oh,” he said, noticing suddenly that his bags were gone.   
  
“I had the hen taken back to Bag End. Doesn’t do to let a perfectly good fowl spoil in this sun,” Bilbo said with a slight reprimand in his voice.  
  
“I was only going to rest for a moment,” Frodo murmured apologetically, “Thank you Bilbo.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Bilbo said, looking out across the creek. “And on the off chance you meant that hen to be cooked tonight I asked Mrs. Peabody to make a marinade for it. It should be soaking in the icebox by now.”  
  
“You really are too good,” Frodo chuckled.  
  
“I do what I can,” Bilbo said sounding pleased, “Mind, I hope you’ll save me some.”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“I’ll be very late tonight,” Bilbo said slowly, “I’m meeting cousin Ferumbras at the Ivy Bush. Poor old chap has to be off in the morning to Tookland, but he had promised a long night of song and tale for the village and I do not intend to miss it.”  
  
“That sounds wonderful,” Frodo said, “I hope you have a good time.”  
  
“I hope you do too,” Bilbo said quietly. Frodo paused a moment before smiling and looking away.  
  
“I will,” he said.  


♦

  
Sam gazed at the fading oranges of the twilight sky and shivered. He could see light from the windows up on the hill, candles flickering in the kitchen and smoke rising from the chimney. He stood in his garden, the sounds of his household behind him, as the girls cooked and fussed. The Gaffer had not come home yet, but he knew not to expect Sam back that evening. Even the girls had picked up on something different in their brother’s mood. As if summoned at the thought of them, Sam heard the door to Number One open.  
  
“Sammy?” Daisy's voice came from behind.  
  
“Aye?” he asked turning. Daisy stepped out of the smial and closed the door behind her. She pressed a bag into his hands. Sam looked down at it in surprise and back up at his sister.  
  
“A little cool this evening,” she said, looking away.  
  
“A little. We’ve the north wind bringing cool air off Lake Evendim. Gammer Twofoot reckons we’ll have a few more days of it,” Sam agreed, glancing down at the bag she had given him. “Er, what’s this?” he asked.  
  
“Just some clothes and things,” she murmured, “You’re going up the hill aren’t you?” she added dropping her voice.  
  
“Ah. Aye,” Sam said, embarrassed that she had guessed and more embarrassed that she had packed a bag for him. Daisy nodded.  
  
“I were wrong before,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry. I ought not said what I did.”  
  
“Oh, Daisy,” Sam began but Daisy had no mind to be interrupted.  
  
“Mam loved him,” she said, “and maybe she’d be afraid for you, as I am, but she loved him. So I can’t see… I can’t see her being angry at you for doing the same.” Sam looked away uncomfortably. “You go on now,” Daisy said softly, “I’ll see the hole is closed up tonight.”  
  
“The… woodstove,” Sam managed, “you have to shut the air valve-”  
  
“Just a hair from closed to keep the coals. Aye, I know,” Daisy said softly. Sam smiled at her and pulled her into an embrace. He felt Daisy’s arms about his back and then she released him. “Thank you Daisy,” he said and stepped away.  
  
“Good night Samwise,” she said and turned away going back to the door. Sam opened the gate and stepped into the lane, slinging Daisy’s bag over his shoulder, walking briskly up the row road toward the hill and his appointment.  


♦

  
There was a soft knock on the door and Frodo felt his heart thump hard against his ribs for a moment until he took a deep breath and went to the kitchen door. He opened it and found Samwise standing on the stoop, the dusk air all around him and his face lit by the candles kept in sconces by the door. Sam smiled bashfully.  
  
“Hullo,” he said.  
  
“Hullo,” Frodo replied and stood back to let him in, “Come see, I’ve got a hen in the oven and potato soup- that’s ready- and I’ve got a crumble. Last of the blackberries.”  
  
“That sounds good,” Sam murmured gazing into the kitchen as he moved inside and closed the door behind him. Frodo’s eyes lit on the bag slung over Sam’s shoulder, and when Sam caught him looking his ear tips went scarlet. “I didn’t mean to presume!” he said painfully and pulled the bag off, setting it down, “Daisy packed it for me and I…”  
  
“Don’t be silly,” Frodo laughed, “You’re not presuming at all.” Sam bowed his head, but he was smiling now. “Daisy packed it for you did you say?” Sam looked up at that and nodded.  
  
“That she did,” he said. Frodo cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows, going back to the stove.  
  
“Heavens, I wouldn’t have guessed it from the talk we had a few days ago.”  
  
“You and our Daisy had a talk?” Sam asked, his ear tips pinking up again. Frodo nodded and stirred the stew.  
  
“We came to a truce of sorts, but she left me with the impression that she…” he paused, “…disapproved.”  
  
“Well she’s softening on it,” Sam sighed and went to stand near the stove, curiously surveying dinner’s progress.  
  
“I’m glad to hear that,” Frodo said quietly. With Sam’s help Frodo soon had the hen out of the oven and dressed. The table was laid and before long they sat down together and ate.  
  
The hen was tender and flavorful, having spent the afternoon soaking in a lemon, white wine, and oil marinade, seasoned with rosemary. Frodo had honed his cooking skills at Bilbo's elbow and could now reliably cook fowl and fish at a level that all but the pickiest hobbits would heartily approve. After he'd roasted the hen, he'd garnished it with mushrooms, lightly cooked in oil. The potato soup had been more of an experiment, Frodo having chosen it because he knew Sam liked potatoes, and had in fact grown these potatoes. He'd been following a recipe in one of Bilbo's mother's cookbooks and he was reasonably pleased with how it had come out. The soup was creamy, thickened with butter and cream and balanced with onion and black pepper. He was pleased when Sam sipped it and looked up with shining eyes.  
  
"Good?" Frodo asked. Sam nodded.   
  
"You've a dab hand at cooking," he said, "this is all very good."

"Thank you. I'm glad you enjoy it."  
  
Any small amount of lingering tension drained away as they plodded along in comfortable conversation. Frodo could almost see Sam relaxing and took pleasure in it. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to feel anxious.  
  
When Frodo had finished his meal he rose and began cleaning. Sam offered to help but Frodo waved him off. When he had packed everything away he returned to the kitchen to see that Sam had finished his wine. As Frodo struggled to find easy words to invite Sam into the parlor the other stood. He grinned suddenly and took a step forward, his hands landing in Frodo’s hair, twining there. Frodo laughed.  
  
“Can I take a liberty?” Sam asked him.  
  
“I think you already are, but please do,” Frodo murmured encouragingly. Sam’s grin widened and he drew away, casting a gleeful look over his shoulder as he went into the hallway. Frodo belted out another laugh, this one slightly frustrated as he followed curiously. Sam darted into the parlor and went to the player piano, bending down to pull out Bilbo’s case of paper reels. Frodo watched as Sam carefully removed one of the paper reels from its tube and then opened the case, sliding the roll into the spool box. Frodo put his hands in his pockets watching as Sam drew the free end of the spool out and threaded it into the instrument’s take up reel. Sam must have watched Bilbo do it, for Frodo hadn’t known that Sam knew how to work the confounded thing. When Sam was satisfied he drew back and replaced the wood lid, going to the side to wind it. As he did he glanced up and met Frodo’s eyes, looking a little bashful as he did.  
  
“This is the liberty?” Frodo asked him teasingly. Sam glanced down, chuckling softly.  
  
“Hm,” he offered. After a few moments he straightened and came back around the side, the soft plink of the music starting as he did. Frodo recognized the tune of _A Merry Bee_ and had to stop himself from smiling, for Sam suddenly looked solemn and shy as he approached.  
  
“I promised you a dance,” he said quietly, “Would you dance with me?”  
  
“Oh, yes. I would be honored,” Frodo said bowing a little, then put his hand in Sam’s and let Sam guide them into a close clasp.  
  
“Ah,” Sam smiled, “Do you like to lead?”  
  
“You lead,” Frodo murmured, liking the feeling of Sam’s hand on his back, “You offered the dance after all.” Sam wound their fingers together and drew him closer. Frodo lay his left arm over Sam’s and curled his hand around Sam’s upper arm, delighting in sway of their bodies. This was not what he had anticipated when he asked for the dance, but he had to admit even if dancing out of doors to a fiddle and flute might have been more fun, the intimacy and privacy of Bag End was much nicer.  
  
“Do you remember, you taught me how to dance,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“Did I?” Frodo asked surprised. He couldn’t recall it.  
  
“You and young master Merry,” he smiled, “and he taught me the slow dancing, like this.” Frodo hummed and then gasped as Sam slid against him and stole a quick kiss. He laughed and glanced up at Sam, noting how his eyes gleamed in mirth.  
  
“Did he teach you that too?” Frodo chuckled.  
  
“Aye, well, told me about it like,” Sam said, blushing a little.  
  
“The scamp,” Frodo murmured. He was beginning to realize that he had never danced like this. There had been slow dances on festival nights and they had been enjoyable to be sure. They had sparking moments of pleasure or anxiety, but this dance was very different from those, not least of all because he felt so at peace. Sam kissed him again and this time it was slow and he lifted his chin, inviting the kiss.  
  
They danced through the roll until the soft notes died away and the keys stilled. Sam continued to hold him, his arms only moving slightly to wrap securely around his back. Frodo held still and waited. He was lulled now by the slow dance and the warm buzz drifting over his senses. Sam tilted his head and kissed along his neck, sending nervous flutters down into the pit of his stomach, even as a pleasant throbbing began to build between his legs. After a moment he sighed.  
  
“Come, let’s sit down,” he said. Sam drew away, and Frodo noticed his breathing coming quickly. They sat near the fireplace on the low reading sofa. Frodo bent and struck a match, holding it to the wick of the oil lamp on the table as he turned the key and the flame flickered to life. He turned back and awkwardly took hold of Sam’s shoulders and kissed him. Sam tensed slightly then relaxed, warming to the kiss. Frodo couldn’t help but note, however, that Sam’s hands were shaking.  
  
“There now,” Frodo soothed, drawing back and smoothing the fabric at Sam’s shoulders. Sam laughed nervously, gazing down.  
  
“Don’t know why I’m all a patter,” he breathed.  
  
“It’s alright,” Frodo murmured softly, "it's just me." Sam smiled briefly and eased. Seeing the change Frodo pressed him back, “Lie back, dearest.” Sam let out a chuff of air and did as he was bid, looking curiously on as Frodo curled over him. “That’s nice, isn’t it?” Frodo murmured. Sam made an affirmative hum and Frodo rewarded him by reaching down to open a button at his throat. Sam breath shifted and Frodo could see the excitement in his face.  
  
There was something wonderfully heady about seducing Sam, he thought. Watching someone he loved grow excited and needy was fulfilling and he thought perhaps he understood some of what Sam had felt on the hill a week or so ago. He finished opening Sam’s shirt and explored his skin, with strokes and kisses, twining his fingers in the soft light colored hair that ran from his throat down to his belly. Below him Sam squirmed and let out what was almost a giggle when Frodo tickled him, but there was heat to it as well, for Frodo could well feel the solid ridge sliding against his thigh now. He chuckled and bent, licking one of Sam’s nipples. Sam hissed and stifled a cry.  
  
Frodo teased him for long moments until Sam’s squirming grew more urgent. Throughout the teasing Frodo had begun to rub back, his body moving up and down against the hot place between Sam’s legs. But Sam was beginning to pant and pull at him, needing more to notch his arousal higher. Carefully Frodo eased away, even as Sam stared up at him, his eyes disappointed.  
  
“Oh please,” he murmured, “don’t stop.” Frodo kissed him and lay a hand against Sam’s quivering form, stroking his soft skin.  
  
“You’re not even undressed,” Frodo murmured in his ear, “Let me.” He moved his hand down and slipped the buttons open on Sam’s trousers. Sam obediently lifted his hips and let Frodo slid his pants off.  
  
“Um, er. But,” he stuttered, but fell silent when Frodo opened the ties of his small clothes.  
  
“Hm?” Frodo murmured questioningly, but Sam’s eyes had slipped shut in bliss. “Sam?” Frodo whispered. Sam opened his eyes and leaned up, kissing him as Frodo reached down into the thin garment and drew Sam’s length out. “Good?” he asked quietly. Sam let out a gurgle and nodded, beyond speech. Frodo chuckled and moved down the sofa to be closer to what he held.  
  
It was a handsome prick, he decided, with a nice thickness to it but not too large to manage. The head was flushed a deep red, peeking out from the foreskin, and the whole length was hot, just as Frodo had imagined it. Experimentally, he pulled back the foreskin, watching the rosy head emerge. It was such a pretty plum sort of color that Frodo found himself rubbing the tip lightly. Above Sam squirmed uncomfortably and left out an impatient wordless murmur.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Frodo murmured and began working the shaft, “It’s so fetching. I couldn’t help admiring it.” Sam collapsed back in relief, groaning. With a final chuckle Frodo leaned down and carefully closed his lips around the head of the prick he held. Sam’s body jolted under him in reaction. Frodo gazed up and saw Sam looking down at him, his eyes wide in surprise. Gingerly, Frodo lapped at the seam just below the head of his prick and watched Sam’s expression melt into exquisite bliss.  
  
“Glory,” he squeaked. Feeling a surge of confidence Frodo took the shaft deeper into his mouth and moved his hand down to grip the base. He began a rhythm up and down, letting his tongue glide and swirl along the seam. He was gratified to find that Sam seemed to enjoy this as much as he did. It felt nice in his mouth even though Frodo was letting it push to the back of his throat. He kept a firm grip at the base, just in case Sam thrust carelessly and choked him. But so far Sam was holding himself still, other than the tensing of his muscles and the quivers of pleasure.  
  
“Frodo,” Sam panted, his voice rasping and desperate. Carefully Frodo drew his mouth back. The prick had hardened in his grasp, and the head was fully exposed now. He blinked at it, before looking up at Sam.  
  
“Yes, dear?” he asked.  
  
“You have to stop that or I’m going to… you know,” Sam mumbled.  
  
“Well, that’s the point,” Frodo said patiently.  
  
“But,” Sam winced, “I don’t want to. Not here.”  
  
“Then where?” Frodo asked, truly puzzled. His mind was slightly hazy.  
  
“Can’t we go to your room?” Sam asked painfully.  
  
“Of course we can,” Frodo said instantly contrite and rose, collecting Sam’s pants as he did. He felt shamed. He had after all been trying to make Sam as comfortable in all this as possible.  
  
“It’s only Mr. Bilbo will be back soon. And I wouldn’t want…” Sam murmured flushing as he rose.  
  
“Oh, that’s what’s worrying you,” Frodo slipped an arm around him, “There was never any chance of that. Bilbo is staying late at the pub, and I very much suspect that he will be there until sunup at least.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said in a small voice as Frodo bent and picked up the oil lamp to take with them.  
  
“I told you I wouldn’t let anything interrupt us or distract us,” he said quietly as they went out into the hall. Sam smiled and ducked his head.  
  
“That you did,” he said, “And I ought to know by now that I can trust your word.”  
  
“Mm. Just so,” Frodo said as they entered his room. He closed the door behind them. Sam cast a glance at the door.  
  
“The kitchen fire,” he murmured.  
  
“I already banked it,” Frodo said laughing a little as he put the oil lamp down on his bedside table. Sam smiled.  
  
“The left over hen?” he asked.  
  
“In the cold cellar. Along with the other left overs,” he said, placing the oil lamp on the bedside table. Sam chuckled.  
  
“And… the shutters?” he asked.  
  
“Bother the shutters, Samwise,” Frodo said going to him and wrapping his arms around the other. Sam sighed happily.  
  
“Then, are you going to make love to me?” he asked softly. Frodo kissed him briefly and nuzzled along his cheek.  
  
“Yes if you’ll stop nattering on about left overs and shutters,” he said. Sam returned the kiss.  
  
“How?” he asked, his voice dropping down to the quietest murmur. Frodo paused.  
  
“What do you want?” he asked just as softly, all the tease gone from his voice.  
  
“I don’t know. I just want to be close to you. I want to be in your arms,” Sam whispered, as if ashamed.  
  
“That’s easily arranged,” Frodo said, trying to put the tenderness he felt into his voice. Sam fixed him with an adoring look as Frodo released him and they went to the bed. Sam shrugged off his open shirt and with only a brief hesitation pushed his small clothes down, before climbing into the bed. Frodo went about it slower, as he had more to take off and watched Sam nestle himself into the soft sheets and coverlet. He tugged the sheets up to cover his legs and lap, still a little shy, Frodo noted. Surprisingly, Frodo didn’t feel shy himself. He usually had with his other partners, even after coupling he felt a little nervous about their gaze wandering over his bare body. But with Sam he felt little apprehension.  
  
He slid out of his shirt and unbuttoned his breeks, and pushed them down over his hips. Sam’s eyes were on him, and he took pleasure in that. He stepped around to the other side of the bed, bending to light a set of beeswax candles he kept on the table for reading. With those lit, and the oil lamp adding its own soft illumination, there was a pool of warm flickering light around the bed. Frodo glanced down, watching the candle light glow against his bare skin.     
  
“You are a fair creature,” Sam sighed. Frodo glanced up at him, smiling.  
  
“Am I?” he laughed and wriggled out of his own small clothes. His penis caught on the fabric and bobbed lazily to his amusement.  
  
“You’ve such smooth skin,” Sam murmured, “and soft hair. I love touching your hair. And you’ve a nice round belly, too. I like how you’ve hair that trails down from your navel.”  
  
“You’ve got that too,” Frodo said as he climbed into bed, “Go on, let me see.” Obligingly Sam pulled the sheet down and Frodo touched his stomach, tracing his fingers through the slightly stiff light curls that drew together at the center of his stomach. Sam chuckled, ticklish.  
  
“Aye, but yours is dark against your skin,” Sam put in, “tis handsome. Mine all but disappears against me skin.”  
  
“I think it’s lovely,” Frodo murmured, kissing his shoulder. “You’re all brown, like a chestnut. Especially now, being out in that summer sun.” Sam snorted and slid down lower into the bed, nestling himself firmly against Frodo’s side. Frodo bent over him, smiling down as Sam looked up and slid his fingers into the other’s hair, brushing back his tumble of sandy curls. “Oh my darling,” Frodo sighed, and curled himself over Sam, noting how it felt to lie bare against him. His heart was pounding suddenly and he glance up to see an answering look of shocked pleasure in Sam’s eyes.  
  
“You feel good,” Sam murmured.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo gasped and shifted to lie more fully over him. He sighed and fixed Sam in his gaze before leaning down to kiss him. Sam bent forward eagerly and met him, wrapping his arms around Frodo’s back as he did. They kissed for long moments, secure and warm. Frodo gently broke the kiss and drew back, even as Sam involuntarily tightened his grip to keep him from escaping. Frodo laughed, delighted when Sam gasped and loosened his grip, his ear tips reddening.  
  
"Go on," Frodo encouraged.  
  
"Yeah?" Sam chuckled. He drew back, regarding Frodo with open interest, his eyes roving down his body. To his surprise, Sam flipped them over and began exploring his skin. He watched as Sam caressed him and noted the intense concentration writ in his face. His hands moved across his chest and swept down to his stomach, pausing occasionally to seek out the shape of a muscle, the jut of a bone, or a soft layer of padding. It was as if Sam were making a study of him for one of his woodcarvings, Frodo thought and felt slightly self-conscious for the first time. Sam seemed to sense this and moved up to lay kisses along his neck.  
  
A month ago, if someone had asked Frodo what sort of lover Sam might be he would have guessed that he was shy and quick, yet he was finding now that under the shyness was a careful lover, who while not exactly skilled, was enthusiastic and so unassuming that one could not help but fall to his charms.  
  
As he was kissed, Frodo noticed Sam’s hands drifting downward until a fist closed around his prick and began a slow firm rhythm up and down the shaft. Frodo let out a soft sighing moan as the lust rose to the back of his throat. Sam kissed him again, harder and urgently. Frodo let him and fell for a time into the mindless rhythm that Sam was driving through him. His blood was rousing and his thoughts slowed, giving way to the deep primal urges thrumming through him.  
  
He wanted to push into that pressure and rub his cock harder against the obliging hand. More than that, his mind was filled with the need to thrust inside the warmth of Sam’s young straining body. He gritted his teeth and tried to think through the haze of lust. No, Sam had wanted something else, hadn’t he? And Frodo had been determined that this time was for Sam’s comfort. Finally he squirmed out of Sam’s grip, murmuring,  
  
“Hold, dear.” Behind him Sam was panting, and the bed shifted as Sam sat up, watching him. Frodo clambered over the bedcovers to the bedside table and rummaged through the top drawer until he found his little bottle of oil and withdrew it. Sam spotted this and his eyes rounded in surprise and if Frodo wasn’t mistaken, anxiety. He returned to Sam’s side and put the bottle in his hands.  
  
“We don’t have to,” Frodo said quietly, “but I thought it might be nice this way. I can be on my back and hold you while you rock into me.” Sam blinked slowly in the dim light, taking it in. His brow knit slightly and he glanced questioningly at Frodo.  
  
“On your back?” he asked breathlessly. Frodo smiled, slightly embarrassed despite himself.  
  
“Erm. If I can manage it,” he said. Sam glanced down.  
  
“And it will feel good to you…? Even all bent up like that?” he asked.  
  
“Just shove a pillow under my ass,” Frodo laughed, “and it will be fine.” The tension in Sam’s face broke and he snorted. He turned and taking Frodo by the shoulder gave him a quick searing kiss.  
  
“Glory, but I want you,” he said in a low voice.  
  
“Then by all means,” Frodo murmured back and felt his pulse quicken again. He leaned back among the sheets and tossed aside coverlet and took one of the pillows, passing it down, and lifted his hips to slid it under him. He felt once more the twinge of self-consciousness, lying on his back, exposed. His cock had flopped to the side, and he pulled it back to the center of his stomach, fidgeting with it. It had calmed somewhat during the interlude but still tingled, wanting attention. Sam gazed down at him, holding the little bottle. Slowly he unstopped it and poured a bit into the palm of his hand. He met Frodo’s eyes, uncertain. Frodo lifted a hand, beckoning him.  
  
“Come here,” he murmured. Sam crawled forward and bent, leaning over him, as Frodo reached up and twined his fingers in Sam’s locks, stroking his ears and cheeks. “Dear hobbit,” he sighed. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, a smile on his lips. He reached down and spread the oil in his hand down the length of Frodo’s prick, taking it firmly and gave a few pumps.  
  
Frodo sighed and murmured in pleasure. He watched Sam’s hand on him, happy and rousing once more. Sam’s breathing had deepened too and his cock was bobbing stiffly between his legs. Frodo bit his lip, noting that the rosy head was shiny and damp. He desperately wanted that cock and began to wonder if Sam knew what it was he was supposed to be doing with that oil.  
  
“Darling, I’m ready,” Frodo spoke quietly but even he could heard the low tone of heat in his voice. Sam looked up, startled and closed his mouth. Without a word he poured more oil, dipping his finger into the little pool, then slid a finger against Frodo’s pucker. His touch was gentle as he rubbed insistent circles.  
  
_Thank heavens_ , Frodo thought, elated at the sensation and that Sam seemed to know what he was doing. After a bit of rubbing and teasing he eased a finger in and Frodo sighed, feeling the welcome pressure. He pressed deeper and brushed the spot that Frodo had long ago discovered brought him bliss. He moaned and Sam froze, his finger withdrawing slightly. Frodo huffed in disappointment and rolled his hips, trying to get Sam to touch him there again. Sam seemed to catch on and leaned closer.  
  
“Good?” he asked throatily. In reply Frodo reached down and took his prick in hand, stroking it, gazing up at Sam lustfully.  
  
“Quite,” he breathed and rolled his hips again, easing him deeper, back into his sweet spot. Sam worked him for long minutes, stimulating him enough so that Frodo slowed his own efforts, to prolong the experience. Gently Sam eased out and went back to the bottle. Frodo watched in anticipation as Sam poured the remaining oil out and carefully worked it into his own prick, pulling and stroking more than was perhaps necessary, as he gazed down with dark eyes. Frodo squirmed under that gaze, uncomfortably aroused.  
  
Sam took a final deep breath and put the bottle safely on the bedside table, then crawled back into position, moving between Frodo’s legs and lifted them up, bending his knees gently to gain better access. Frodo growled low and reached for him, drawing Sam over him and felt the burning heat of Sam’s oiled cock slid against the back of his thigh.  
  
“Don’t you worry now,” Sam murmured softly, and his hand went down, guiding his prong to press where it was most needed. Frodo collapsed back in relief as the thick head penetrated him, slowly filling and receding as Sam methodically worked it against the clasping muscles. Sam’s eyes were closed but even so Frodo could tell he had been transported into high bliss. He unclenched his hands where they had been griping the bed sheets and reached up for Sam’s arms, trying to pull him closer. Sam’s eyes opened at the touch and he fixed his gaze on Frodo and let out a soft whimper.  
  
“Mm, a bit more,” Frodo breathed, “Come along dearest. There you are.” He sighed as Sam slid deeper and began to rub him in ways that were making him shiver with desire, “Oh yes,” he panted, “oh just like that.” Sam’s fingers dug into his sides but Frodo didn’t feel the pain at all. He let out a soft cry of approval as Sam gingerly increased his pace and his prick found the same spot as before, pushing against it. They pumped against one another for long minutes, pausing every so often to gasp for air and rest shaking limbs, but the need was so strong that it could not be ignored for more than a few seconds.  
  
Helplessly, Frodo reached down and tugged his cock, which was leaking now and flushed a deep red. The rhythm was driving him wild and Sam held him firmly and showed no willingness to slacken his pace as they neared the peak.  
  
Sam stiffened, groaned and went still, his head whipping back and to the side. Frodo gasped, caught off guard by the moment. Desperately, he rocked into Sam and tightened his hold on his cock, tipping himself over the edge. He let out a soft cry and shuddered coming hard, warm seed spattering over his belly. Sam whimpered as he gasped for breath. Their eyes met, and they stared at one another in wonder.  
  
The moment slipped by and Sam eased down, his arms shaking as he lowered himself. They lay still except for taking great gulps of air for several long moments. Slowly, and feeling as if he had drunk several glasses of wine, Frodo lifted himself up and gingerly eased Sam’s soft prick out of him and turned himself around so that he could lie at Sam’s side, throwing his arms around the other. Sam moaned weakly but didn’t open his eyes. Frodo chuckled and kissed him, reaching into his beside drawer to retrieve a pocket handkerchief to dry himself.  
  
“You’ll stay the night?” he murmured. Sam opened his eyes and gazed at him blearily.  
  
“Aye,” he sighed and closed his eyes again. “I jest came so hard me knees won’t hold me up. So aye.”  
  
“Oh good,” Frodo laughed. Their breathing gradually slowed and before five minutes had gone by Frodo had fallen into a deep satisfied sleep.  


♦

  
Frodo awoke before dawn and felt Sam still warm in his arms, snoring softly. He smiled, far too at peace to move, and slipped back into dreams. A while later he awoke and saw that Sam was awake and trying to ease away.  
  
“Oh bother it,” Frodo grumbled, “it’s barely daylight. And I know for a fact that you aren’t working today.”  
  
“That don’t mean I don’t have things to do,” Sam chuckled. Frodo snorted and threw an arm out, catching Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“Aw, sir,” Sam protested.  
  
“And I haven’t finished with you, sir,” Frodo said, drawing him back under the covers. Sam shook his head but let him, settling back in. Frodo lay over him, letting their bodies lock together and kissed him until Sam moaned. He had wanted to try sucking him last night but had been interrupted and he had no intention of letting Sam go until he had gained the experience.  


♦

  
As morning progressed Frodo found himself settling into the kitchen. His head was still in a fog even after elevensies. As he was deciding whether or not the tea had stepped enough, Frodo heard the sound of the front door opening and closing softly and the faint sound of footsteps. Slowly, Bilbo emerged from the hall and came into the kitchen, casting a brief glance and a nod to his nephew.  
  
“Good morning, though it’s nearly noon,” Frodo said.  
  
“Do you have any tea on?” Bilbo asked, sinking into a chair. Frodo smiled at him and rose, going to the counter.  
  
“Old Took, if that suits you,” he said.  
  
“Fine,” Bilbo agreed, “thank you lad,” he said as he stole a scone from Frodo’s plate.  
  
“Where have you been?” Frodo asked him.  
  
“Morning-afters are awkward enough without your old cousin bumbling about the smial,” Bilbo grumbled.  
  
“Oh don’t be silly,” Frodo chided him and set a cup of hot milky tea in front of Bilbo. Bilbo sighed and reached for the cup, drinking slowly, his eyes closed. Frodo watched him. “Are you hung over?” he asked.  
  
“Of course not,” Bilbo snapped.  
  
“You look hung over,” Frodo observed and sat down again.  
  
“To be hung over one generally has to not be drunk. I am still drunk,” he said.  
  
“Cousin Ferumbras?” Frodo murmured, sipping his own tea.  
  
“I don’t want you hanging around those Tooks. They’re mad,” Bilbo growled, “and a terrible influence.”  
  
“You’re the one who stayed out all night drinking with him,” Frodo said wryly, “And a hobbit your age-”  
  
“Bother my age,” Bilbo grumbled, “You stay away from them.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said soothingly.  


♦

  
It wasn’t until after lunch that Frodo let himself wander outside to see if he could spot Sam around the row. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t interrupt the boy this morning, that he would give Sam space to contemplate what had happened between them the night before. Truth be told, Frodo had wanted that same span of space for himself, though it was mostly so he could think back to it and smile to himself, without anyone calling him daft or dozy.  
  
He hadn’t wandered far when he spotted Sam ambling up the Hill toward him. His eyes met Frodo’s shyly, but his smile was warm.  
  
“Hullo, sir,” he said.  
  
“Hullo,” Frodo said and sat down on the bower in the front flower garden. “Did you have a good lunch?” he asked.  
  
“Yes, Daisy makes a good one when she’s in a mood to,” he said as he let himself in the gate and latched it shut behind him. “How was your's?”  
  
“Good. I had to make tea for poor Bilbo. He’s going to have a sore head from last night.”  
  
“Going to?” Sam asked as he sat in the bower next to Frodo.  
  
“He says he’s still drunk,” Frodo confided, “I hate to think how much he and his Took cousin imbibed. You would think a hundred and eight year old hobbit would know his limits.”  
  
“Best not let him hear you talking like that,” Sam chuckled.  
  
“No. I’ll get my ears boxed once he’s feeling better,” Frodo laughed, “I shouldn’t make fun anyway. He stayed out all night partially as a favor to us.”  
  
“Did he?” Sam asked, his voice dropping to a low bashful tone, “Then he knows?”  
  
“Of course he does,” Frodo murmured, “Don’t worry. He’s not going to spread it round.”  
  
“I’m not worried,” Sam said and Frodo noticed a faint pink blush come to his cheeks. Frodo watched Sam with lowered eyelids, contemplating his words.  
  
“You know,” he said, “you were rather good.” Sam looked up.  
  
“Oh,” he said, pleased. Frodo leaned forward. Though Sam had said he had not tumbled the other boy, he had not made any comment on explorations that he may or may not have done on his own. The trick would be to inquire without embarrassing him.  
  
“I’m serious. You went so smoothly that I’m not sore today at all. And I don’t have to say it felt lovely,” he said quietly and watched as Sam’s smile widened, though he still looked a little bashful. “Have you tried it out? Maybe on your own?” Frodo asked him. Sam looked up and blinked looking momentarily confused, then shook his head. “No?” Frodo prodded him, “Well you certainly knew your way around. I can hardly believe you’ve no experience doing such.” Sam shrugged, not embarrassed at all, to Frodo’s surprise.  
  
“I’ve helped the Cotton’s when their sheep have problems in that area,” he said. Frodo stared, feeling his libido drop away.  
  
“I’m sorry?” he said.  
  
“You have to get your finger up inside them and feel around to make sure it ain’t anything more serious and then you have to get a tube in them to wash out the-”  
  
“I see,” Frodo said quickly.  
  
“They use a sort of grease to ease them,” Sam said and paused noticing for the first time Frodo’s expression. He chuckled. “Don’t worry, sir. You were much nicer.” Frodo closed his eyes.  
  
“Oh, I am glad."  
  
“Why, you didn’t kick and holler near as much as that old sheep did,” Sam added. Frodo’s eyes flew open and he stared at Sam, horrified. Sam laughed and scuttled backward as if afraid Frodo would strike him.  
  
“Don’t you have something to garden?” Frodo asked severly.  
  
“No sir, I’m not working today,” Sam said with barely suppressed glee.  
  
“So you’re loitering,” Frodo said severely. Sam chuckled.  
  
“I did ought to go to town. Da wants some things fetched. I come up to see if there was anything you were needing,” he said.  
  
“I don’t need anything,” Frodo said pointedly, “and I think you have best take yourself off.” Sam smiled and stepped close again.  
  
“May I kiss your hand before I go?” he asked. Frodo considered this a moment then nodded slightly, acquiescing, and held his hand out. Sam took it and kissed the top of his fingers, looking up into his eyes. Despite himself Frodo felt a jolt of fondness. _Playfulness_ , he thought, _playfulness from Sam._ He wasn’t sure he had seen this side of him.  


♦

  
Sam approached the kitchen door of Bag End hours later, fresh from his trip to town. He had come along the garden path and peeked in the window to see if any of the inhabitants were about. Bilbo was sitting in the kitchen, head in his hands. Quietly, Sam entered, placing his bags on the counter.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo, are you alright?” he asked.  
  
“Fine,” Bilbo said, not moving.  
  
“Begging your pardon,” Sam said doubtfully but Bilbo sighed interrupting him.  
  
“I am a bit hung over,” he admitted looking up, “But I’ve already dosed myself. I’m just waiting now and trying to decide if I want a lie down.” He eyed Sam’s bags. “What’s all this?” he asked.  
  
“I was wondering if I could make tea,” Sam said.  
  
“You’re not working today,” Bilbo said mildly.  
  
“No sir. Mr. Frodo says I’m loitering,” Sam said, smiling a little.  
  
“Does he?” Bilbo chuckled.  
  
“I wanted to make tea as a bit of a treat,” Sam said and opened his bags, “I’ve got the ingredients for scones with cherry topping.” Bilbo winced.  
  
“I’m not sure my stomach could take it now, but perhaps by the time you’ve made them I’ll feel a bit better. It sounds wonderful otherwise. Thank you, Sam.”  
  
“You're welcome,” Sam said, setting out his ingredients. Bilbo returned to holding his head in his hands. Sam watched him and decided to put some tea on.  
  
“Samwise?”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“You're happy in all this, aren't you?” Bilbo asked quietly. Sam stopped and stared.  
  
“Yes, of course I am,” he said. Bilbo blinked at him blearily.  
  
“Good. I mean, I can see that you are, but still,” he sighed, “I feel a bit guilty. Frodo and I have complicated your life and we'll go on complicating your life, maybe in ways that we don't even see yet.”  
  
“Sir,” Sam sighed.  
  
“Even if you're happy, I still want to say that I'm sorry. For all the bother.”  
  
“Don't be apologizing, beg your pardon,” Sam murmured. He paused a moment, eyes cast down. “I could never regret knowing you two, no matter what bother comes my way cause of it.” Sam met Bilbo's eyes and added, “My life is so much richer for knowing you and for knowing Mr. Frodo.” Bilbo smiled at him, and their talk had turned to lighter topics.  
  
Sam spent the next hour baking. Bilbo stayed with him a while until he decided to lie down after all and Sam was left alone in the kitchen as the smells of scones filled the smial. He was slightly surprised that Frodo had not come to investigate such smells; usually any sign of baking drew the younger Baggins from his work. But in a way Sam preferred this. He wanted a bit of quiet and peace and he had his heart set on making up a fancy tea tray for Frodo anyway. That ought to sooth any ruffled feathers over the sheep remark, he thought.  
  
Nearly an hour later the scones had come out of the oven and cooled enough for Sam to pour over them the cherry topping he had made. He admired the little plate, stacked with two scones and put it on the tray which already had a tea pot filled with warm fragrant tea, and two small cups, turned over and sitting on crisp linen. He lifted the tray and went down the hall. He could hear Bilbo snoring from his room and smiled.  
  
He went to Frodo’s door and shifting up close managed to knock softly while maintaining his grip on the heavy tray.  
  
“Yes?” Frodo called from within.  
  
“Tea, sir,” Sam said.  
  
“Bring it in please,” Frodo said. Sam bit his lip, trying not to smile. Usually Frodo would have come and opened the door for him. Carefully, he turned the knob and pushed the door open with his foot, only to find Frodo half way to the door, apparently repenting on making Sam open a door while balancing a tray. He froze seeing Sam and motioned to the small desk by the door. Sam set the tray down, while Frodo drew close to inspect the contents.  
  
“Tea for two, I see,” Frodo said wryly.  
  
“Pardon my cheek,” Sam said, folding his arms behind him.  
  
“Did you bake these? I thought that was Bilbo in the kitchen,” Frodo mused.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo is lying down. He didn’t feel well,” Sam said. “And yes. I baked them.” Frodo turned and fixed his with a calculating look. Sam held still and let him.  
  
“Why don’t we remove to the garden? I haven’t enough clear surfaces to entertain in here.”  
  
“As you like, sir,” Sam said and took the tray up once more. Frodo did a bad job at hiding a smile and went quickly out. Sam set after him, not sure exactly what kind of game it was they were playing, but liking it.  
  
They emerged outside into a warm sunny afternoon full of bird song and the low drone of bees. Sam took the tray to the wisteria bower and set it down in the shady enclave. Frodo sat down and took the tea pot, pouring a cup for each of them.  
  
“This is very nice,” he said softly, “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Sam said. “You know I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earlier. I was only kidding you.” Frodo looked up and smiled, chuckled a bit.  
  
“I know that. And it’s nice to see you not so careful with me,” he said. “I only objected because I felt I must make some sort of protest.” Frodo glanced over at him slyly, “And I suppose your Gaffer never told you not to compare lying with your lover to sticking your hand up a sheep.” Sam blushed despite himself. Frodo laughed, “It was just your hand, wasn’t it, Sam-dear?”  
  
“What? Of course!” Sam sputtered and Frodo let out a laugh.  
  
“I had to get a bit of my own back. Don’t begrudge me,” he said, “But enough. Let me kiss you and we’ll call it a truce.” Frodo set down his cup and leaned over, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam bent closer and let Frodo kiss him. They drew back and Sam leaned against the bench back, looking out into the garden once more.  
  
“Truce,” he murmured. They sipped tea and ate in silence for a few minutes until Frodo set aside his plate, and held his tea cup and saucer balanced in his lap.  
  
“You know,” he said quietly, “The things you said on the Hill, about this being… oh, starlight and glory and spring after winter, do you remember that?”  
  
“I do,” Sam said.  
  
“You know I feel that way too,” Frodo said softly. Sam nodded. “I didn’t know that I could feel those things,” his voice faltered for a moment, “and now that I have, it’s all the more dear to me. As are you.” He lowered his head, gazing into his tea. “I love you so very much.” Sam took hold of the tea tray and moved it aside, sliding down the bench to Frodo’s side, and put an arm around him. “I begin to feel that everything might be alright after all.”  
  
“Of course it is,” Sam said softly.  
  
“I never took that as a given, before,” Frodo said and sighed, “but now, it feels like even if there is darkness in my life, I could find my way through it. With your help and strength yes, but even if you are not by my side, the memory of you and of our time would be enough to overcome whatever trials I face.”  
  
“And you say you’ve no pretty words,” Sam smiled, “You are a bit gloomy me dear, all but that your words are sweet.”  
  
“Forgive me,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“There isn’t anything to forgive,” Sam assured him, “only try and remember that you can’t live waiting for the next calamity to strike you. Worry has a way of eating up the happiest times. Even if there is truth in the worry you must be careful how you let it weigh on you.”  
  
“I am only trying to temper my joy with a bit of sense,” Frodo laughed.  
  
“And I’m only asking, what is the sense in tempering joy?” Sam asked him. Frodo went still and turned slightly to meet his eyes.  
  
“Quite,” he murmured. Sam glanced away.  
  
“You may be right of course. You know more about the ways of life,” he admitted.  
  
“No,” Frodo said urgently, “You’re right. There is enough in this world that seeks to diminish joy. I should not take it from myself.” Frodo leaned into his side and lifting his chin placed a kiss on Sam’s cheek.  
  
“Then,” Sam said unsteadily, “We’re agreed.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Everything is going to be alright,” Sam said. He felt Frodo nestle farther into his embrace and lay his head on Sam’s shoulder. Sam gazed out into the garden and watched the wind stir his plants. His thoughts slowed and quieted, until after a time he was only aware of deep contentment and joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: https://yambits.tumblr.com/
> 
> I've got a bit of hobbit art on tumblr [](https://embed.tumblr.com/embed/post/6woKwvZKNY6_1tr6eAG5Jg/174036227155)[here](https://yambits.tumblr.com/post/174036227155) . Some generic Frodo/Sam stuff. Some of it from [**Courtship** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718556)


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